To Love And Protect
by poopoopops
Summary: Death is Santana Lopez's business. As one of the top homicide detectives in the NYPD, she has no time for silly fancies such as love and relationships, until Quinn Fabray comes along. But just when she thinks her life has taken a turn for the better, a series of cases show her just how wrong she is. Quinntana. Puckleberry. Brittana and Sancedes friendship. AU.
1. Case 1: The Jumper

******Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy, Fox and anyone else who holds rights to the show.**

* * *

The note was short. It read:

_I'm sorry but the world would be better off without me. _

"So what do you think?" Detective Noah Puckerman asked, squinting up at his partner to shield his eyes from the scorching sun. It was mid-July, the pinnacle of summer, and he hated the freaking weather. At least while he was here at work.

Summer weekends, Puck thought, were best spent on the beach. That was where you would find the biggest congregation of hot girls in their lovely bikinis, their long toned bodies stretched out on the sand, their bosom peeking out from behind their swimwear. If not, they would be strutting along the sea or playing beach volleyball with their horde of girlfriends. But that was not the point. The point was that at the beach, there would be eye candy. Lots of eye candy. Not to mention, there would be beer. Lots of beer. And food. Finn, the resident glutton, always made sure there was enough for everyone.

He sighed. Here at work, all these thoughts were but mere dreams. Faraway dreams. Currently, Puck's summer Saturday wasn't looking so good. He didn't exactly have the best company, definitely not the company that he had planned on having. Instead of goggling at pretty girls with his best pals as previously planned, he was stuck at work, crouched down next to a corpse.

Sure, Kitty Wilde had been pretty once, but he doubted anything, or anyone, could still stay pretty after falling off a 19-storey building. He grimaced, both at the bloody mess of brains and bones in front of him and at the insensitive thought he had planted in his mind.

"I think the killer is extremely inexperienced and stupid if he or she thinks that we would fall for that shit and conclude that this is suicide. I'm not sure if I should be insulted," Detective Santana Lopez sniffed, her gaze unwavering as she stared down at the mess on the sidewalk that had already sent one newbie scampering off to throw up his breakfast.

Puck grinned up at his partner. Now, here was a sight more pleasing to the eye. With smooth caramel skin, sultry eyes, slashing cheekbones, a high nose and full lips, Santana was the poster girl for "sexy Latina".

Although his partner was dressed in a white, practical, buttoned-down shirt paired with black pants and sneakers, there was nothing about her that oozed masculinity. In fact, Puck knew that underneath that white shirt lay a very magnificent bosom and some very lady-like curves.

Unfortunately, he thought with a shake of his head, he had seen too many guys get their asses kicked for thinking that his partner was nothing more than a pretty face and a hot body. That girl had a hell of an attitude, something which he loved but sometimes wanted to strangle her for, depending on the situation. That, and Santana didn't generally like guys, not in that way at least. You see, Santana Lopez was a lady-lover. A big, big lady-lover, which was in his opinion, a great pity for all the guys out there.

But oh well, that was life. Life was unfair, which explained why he was stuck here with a battered corpse instead of being out on the beach where he should be.

"We detectives have to learn to be more magnanimous at heart. No point feeling insulted," he turned back to the body and sulked, "Though I can't be as big-hearted about giving up my Saturday."

Santana laughed and kicked him lightly in the rear, "Oh yeah, someone was supposed to have a babe-ogling thing at the beach today yeah? I almost forgot that, a miracle considering how absurdly unforgettable the idea is."

Puck spun around to shoot her a look of pity, "You just don't know how to have fun. At least I go out and have fun with my friends. Oh wait, you don't have friends," he scoffed.

She kicked him again, this time hard enough for him to yelp, "Ha ha very funny. Come on, let's get started. The faster we finish this, the faster we end."

"And then what?" Puck stretched and yawned, "We get another case and my Saturday is gone again."

"Still not giving up on the Saturday," Santana smacked him on the back of his head and crouched down to his level.

They had been friends since their Academy days and she dared say she knew him well. While Puck could have a big mouth, he had a bigger heart. He also had passion for his job. Sometimes, he complained when he was tired but he always, always did his job and she knew he would not rest until justice was sought for the dead. He was also someone she knew could cover her back during a mission. That was why she liked him - for his guts, his loyalty and his sense of justice.

She sighed, knowing what she was about to do and hoping she would not regret it later on when she had to break the bad news to the victim's parents. Puck had always been the people person of the duo. He always knew the right words to say, the right thing to do to calm someone down and make them feel better.

"You know what, this case is easy-peasy. I can handle this myself. You can go hang out with your pals at the beach, which for your information, is going to be hot as hell. But go ahead, burn yourself black, I don't care."

She saw his eyes light up in surprise and hope, and sniggered to herself, making sure she blocked her smile with her hand. When he made to speak, she stopped him before he could get a word out, "Before you say anything, I just want to warn you that I'm a fickle-minded person. So if you pretend you don't want to go and..."

He shut his mouth immediately, mimed zipping his lips and pulled her in for a quick, hard but casual kiss on the lips, his mouth already curved up into a wide grin, "Hell I want to go. I do! I owe you babe! I'm going! I'm gone! I'm already ogling at the girls! Call me if you need anything!" he added as he retreated quickly backwards to his car before she could hit him for the kiss.

She watched as he flounced off, snorted when he tripped over his own feet, then felt her smile fade when she turned back towards the body.

"Kitty Wilde, 21 years old. Student in NYADA. Rich kid," she added to herself as she flipped through the deceased's Prada wallet for information, "Now, why would a rich kid like you want to take your own life? You looked happy."

She tapped her chin as she studied the unfortunate girl before her. Branded clothes of the girly sort. Shoes from Alexander McQueen. Bag from Chanel.

She pushed open the bag with a gloved finger and frowned, "Now, why would you have brought your textbooks along with if you had wanted to commit suicide? Hell, why would anyone even carry books in a Chanel handbag?"

She shook her head in disgust and pity as she pushed herself up. "Brett!" she called out to the cop who had thrown up at the grisly sight.

She walked towards the uniform, dumping and sealing the stained gloves in a Ziploc before thrashing it. She was careful to keep a safe distance from Brett. He still looked green and clammy, and she sure as hell did not want any puke on her shirt.

"First jumper?" she nodded curtly to him.

"First death," he croaked out as he wiped his face with a wet towel Santana had been kind enough to pass to him. She remembered how she had felt when she had seen her first death.

"Ah that explains it. Well doesn't matter. The more gruesome it is, the faster you get used to it," she patted the young man's shoulder, noted that he had started trembling and concluded that he would not make it to the homicide department anytime soon. Or at all.

"I want you to go back to the office, find out who the girl's close friends are and interview them. Find out who her enemies are, whether she has any ex-boyfriends, the usual. Get Spencer and Myer to help you. Anything jumps out, call me. I'll meet you guys after I speak to the parents. Can you do that?"

She watched as he walked away somewhat halfheartedly. Looked like this one wouldn't be staying with the police for long.

"As for you," she glanced at the uniform's nametag and read it out slowly, "Ryder Lynn, you're with me," he immediately snapped to attention at her approach.

He was a tall, broad-shouldered lad, rather handsome and fit looking. She approved and was glad to note that this one didn't look green or shaken. She didn't think she could handle another officer throwing up. Furthermore, she had just cleaned her sedan the week before.

"Where are we going Detective," a bright-eyed Ryder asked as he yanked on his seatbelt.

And of course, he was _that_kind of rookie. The happy, sunshine type that would exhaust her before half the day was even over.

Santana sighed as she set off. She never quite knew how to handle over-excited people, which was ironic considering how excitable her two best friends were, "We're going to break the news to the deceased's parents."

The light went out of the boy's eyes, but only slightly.

"Yep. Unfortunately, there's a lot more to police work then just nabbing the murderers. Catching them is the easy part."

"Easy? Wow! If you think it's easy, then what they say about you must be true! You must be one of the best the department has ever enlisted!"

She frowned, "That wasn't what I meant." Was there such talk? She had never heard of it. She just wanted to do her job. "What I meant was that... Never mind. You'll understand later."

She horned impatiently at a cab that suddenly swerved into her lane, sped up as she neared an amber light and beat it just before the light turned red. When she saw Ryder clutching at his seatbelt like a lifeline, she smirked, "Is there also talk that I'm a reckless driver?"

"Oh no, no. There wasn't anything bad. We weren't talking behind your back. We were just asking around, you know? Asking our officers which detectives would be good to work under and your name just came up. It was nothing bad at all. Honest! Many of the officers think you're really pretty!" he blushed bright red when he realised what he had just blurted out and turned quickly to face the front.

Hmmm. Interesting. She hid her smile when he extracted a piece of tissue to swipe at the sweat that had gathered at his brow, "Ryder, am I making you nervous?" she let her voice go low and husky, then barked out a laugh when he gulped nervously. Men were so easy.

She turned on the radio and started whistling. Maybe the day wouldn't be such a depressing one after all.

* * *

"What do you mean you need her for another 3 months?" Quinn blasted into the phone, her usually calm manner replaced by a rare icy storm many of her friends did not know she was capable of, "I told you specifically that you can only have her for 3! Now you want 6?"

She listened impatiently as the caller rambled on about shoot delays, problems on set, things she was basically not interested in hearing, "Artie, Artie, hold up. I don't care what your problems are. A contract is a contract. We agreed specifically on three months. I was worried about the schedule but you assured me that your team would be able to finish the drama in that short span of time."

"Second," she cut in quickly when Artie made a sound, "I told you, again specifically, that my girl has a line of upcoming jobs in the next few months after shooting of the drama ends in July – her return to Broadway, adverts, promotions, magazine shoots. Those have been planned ages ago. I can't possibly push them away now!" she rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration. This was ridiculous. How irresponsible could the producer be.

She huffed as the producer explained things desperately to her, then threw herself back down onto her chair. Wearing out the carpet with her constant pacing definitely would not help in picking her day up.

"Fine, fine. I don't see that we have any other choice. Asking Rachel to ditch this job midway would be unfair to her after all," she sighed, "But you can only have her after," she paused to flip the calendar on the table, "After the 11th of August."

As expected, that information had Artie flipping out. She pulled her mobile phone away from her ear for a moment, rolled her eyes, took a deep calming breath and brought it back to her ear, "I don't have to remind you, Artie, that I'm already doing you a favour. Most of Rachel's jobs should end by then. After which, I'll give you her schedule for the following months."

She sighed as she studied her star's schedule, "I'm going to work her to death. She's going to give me hell on this one. You owe me Artie," she grumbled, before ending the call.

When she did, she could only stare into space. She needed a time-off. There was so much work to be done. Taking over her father's company was definitely more work than she had originally thought it would be but she would see it through. It was the only way she could prove herself to her father and to all the people around her.

She pushed herself upright and looked grimly at her star's schedule. Photo and magazine shoots, advertisements, endorsements, promotions, autograph sessions, not to mention preparations for her return to Broadway. How the hell was she supposed to fit it into 2 short months. More importantly, how the hell was Rachel Berry supposed to manage all that. She sighed and flopped back against her chair. On second thoughts, she would take that five-minute rest.

It wasn't that she was lazy. Contrary to that, anyone who had worked with Quinn Fabray would argue that the businesswoman was a hardworking professional with grit. Some would even term her a workaholic. She was responsible, capable and efficient. What she was not was a pushover and someone who tolerated incompetency.

She had not been brought up that way. Russell Fabray expected perfection and would tolerate nothing less. With her father, there was no such thing as exceeding expectations. There was only meeting or failing expectations.

People had talked of course. People always did. They had talked when she had first taken over the company two years ago, and they continued to talk now, two years later, even after she had shown them results.

It hurt, always being seen as a rich man's daughter with connections but she would be damned if she let it get to her. So she pushed down the hurt, clamped down the bubbling resentment and worked her butt off. She would prove to her father, the unbelievers, the haters that she could be more than just Russell Fabray's daughter. She would be known as Quinn Fabray, her own person.

"Rachel, my office please."

She leaned back against the soft leather of the chair, closed her eyes and swiveled about as she waited for the singer/actress to arrive. Rachel wasn't the type to complain. Usually. She was the type who would heap everything on her back and finish the marathon without any gripe. That was one of the reasons Quinn had handpicked Rachel to bring to the top. But this period wasn't usual for her, not when her... A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in," she said as she pushed himself upright and rested her chin on her clasped hands, "Good morning Rachel. You look tired," Quinn noted with concern as she eyed the pretty lass before her. Her step was missing its usual skip and her eyes were shadowed. Worse, she looked worried and a little sad, "You okay?"

Rachel smiled weakly at her as she slumped into her seat, "I was up all night at the hospital. My dad had a bad night. He's better now though," she added quickly when she saw Quinn's look of concern. Apart from being her boss, Quinn was a friend. A longtime friend in fact, since they had both attended the same High School.

"So what's up?"

Seeing that Rachel clearly didn't want to talk about her dad's health, Quinn let it slide. Work was always a comfortable topic for the both of them. "Artie called. They need you for another three months for -"

Rachel's eyes widened and she sat upright, "3 months?! Quinn! I've projects lined up all the way till the end of September!"

Quinn raised up both her hands, palms out to calm the petite girl down, "Yes Rachel. I'm aware and I've told Artie that. But we'll be able to work around your schedule. The moment I update that, I'll email it to you."

"Quinn, I know what that means," colour had returned to Rachel's cheeks but the red tinge was caused by temper, "I'm going to be worked to death!"

Quinn nodded and looked at her friend with sympathy, "Yes and so would I."

"You don't have a sick father to tend to!" Rachel shot back, "How am I going to visit him daily if I'm swamped with work?"

This was the tricky part. Quinn could empathise with Rachel. She honestly could but she had a company to manage and a reputation to maintain. Not just hers, but Rachel's as well and she knew exactly how hard Rachel had worked to get to where she was today.

"Put yourself in my shoe, just for a second. Try, for me. Please," she added when Rachel's eyes flashed. The brunette glared at her for a while then closed her eyes. She was calming down. The storm had passed, "Your father will understand. He knows you care."

Rachel sighed and slumped back against her chair, "Yes I know he is aware I care but I want to spend more time with him," she bit her lip and looked down, "I don't think he has much time left."

Quinn blinked, got up, went over to her friend and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, "I'm sorry to hear that."

She watched Rachel carefully as the singer struggled with herself and with her feelings.

Finally, Rachel nodded and reached over to place a manicured hand over hers, "Thanks Quinn. Okay, I'm okay. I'm sorry I yelled at you. You're a good friend and a good boss. You're just doing your job. I should do mine too."

"I'll do my best with the schedule. Your dad will love the drama. You're a real brat in there," Quinn grinned.

As expected, Rachel laughed, "Yes. He loves comedies. I'm sure it'll make him laugh."

I only hope that he'll still be around to watch the broadcast.

That was left unsaid.

After Rachel had left, Quinn buried herself in the mountain of work that was piled up on her desk. There were contracts to be written up, sent out, production schedules to be done up, call sheets and budgets to be planned, sponsors to be found etc. It was already giving her a headache.

When her mobile rang, she didn't bother giving it a glance before picking it up with a distracted, "Yeah?"

But when Quinn heard her mother's devastated voice, her head snapped up and her eyes widened with shock and grief.

Her cousin was dead.

* * *

Santana heard the screaming even before she had reached the third floor, and she lived on the fifth storey.

She had been half asleep then but at the piercing sound, her eyes sprung open. Her hand reached automatically for the police-issued pistol at her hip as she sprinted up the last two flights of stairs. When she reached the top, she blinked for a few moments and removed her hand from the barrel of the gun.

"Shit," she recognised those voices. And where they were coming from.

Her brain registered words like "slut", "whore", "bitch" as she dashed over the corridor and skidded to a halt when she came to her apartment. There, she kicked off her boots and left them haphazardly on the floor outside. She didn't even have to open the main door; it was already wide open.

The once plush living room was strewn with tossed cushions, broken glassware, shoved magazines and newspapers. She closed the door behind her to shut out the noise and figured the only reason why the neighbours weren't peering from outside the door was because they thought the screams were probably made from fighting cats. She rushed over to her housemate's room where the fight was taking place, and there, could only goggle at what was happening before her.

"Fuck me," she mumbled as she simply stared.

Brittany and her sister, Ashley, were engaged in war. They looked like they were about to tear each other's throats out. In fact, one of them was in the process of doing just that.

Ashley had her hands squeezed over her sister's slender neck while the latter had one fist plunged into the younger's stomach. The other hand was fisted over Ashley's hair. When that hand tugged brutally, Santana winced. Catfights were always mean and painful. She would know; she had been involved in enough of them to last her a lifetime.

"Okay, that's enough," Santana shouted when Brittany pulled again, "Break it up already!"

She ran over to pull the two women apart and for the kind gesture, received an elbow to the chin and a backhand across the eye, "CUT IT OUT! What the fuck is wrong with the both of you," she yelled angrily as she pulled a kicking and scratching Ashley away from her sister.

"You ask that whore!" Ashley spat at Brittany as she struggled against Santana's vice- like grip.

Brittany gave a wrangled cry at the insult and flew towards Ashley, her claws stretched out. But Santana moved between the both of them with a simple sidestep, "I will hit you if you scratch and disfigure me with those nails. Even if it's an accident."

Brittany immediately stopped in her tracks and glared at Santana, then her sister, "I let you call me that once but you watch your tongue. And your face if you want to keep your looks!"

Ashley glared right back, her face twisted into an angry snarl as she spat the word out again, "Whore!"

At that expected provocation, Brittany resumed her charge, ignoring Santana's sputtering protests and threats. Seeing no other way out, the detective dragged a screaming Ashley out of the room, bodily threw her out, then slammed and locked the bedroom door shut before the younger girl could push her way back in.

"TIME OUT!" she yelled through the wooden door as she shoved back her long hair. She blew out a big breath and sat herself down on the floor, ignoring the vigorous hammers and pounds on the door.

"You too," she told her best friend when Brittany made to stomp towards the door. Even if Brittany wanted to, her friend would have to get pass her, she thought as the door shuddered violently behind her.

Now that she had both hands free and was no longer under siege, she had time to look, actually look at her best friend. The dancer's usually immaculate appearance was marred. Her blonde tresses were tangled, her make up devastated by angry tears, her clothes rumpled and torn at one shoulder. Scratches marked that bare shoulder, while an angry red patch imprinted on Brittany's right cheek was proof that slaps had been exchanged.

A gurgle of laughter bubbled up Santana's throat and she swallowed deliberately to keep it down, "I can't help but say this Britt but you look like crap."

Brittany opened her mouth to retort but was interrupted by an especially hard kick to the door that had Santana jerking up from her position, "I HATE YOU! BOTH YOU AND HIM! FUCK YOU BOTH FOR PLAYING ME!"

The slam of the front door was heard shortly, marking the departure of one angry sister.

Santana brows flew up, "Do I want to know what happened?"

Brittany threw her hands up in the air, spun her back towards Santana and flung herself across her king-sized bed. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!' she screamed into a fat pillow and pounded her frustration into it. The tears came in a torrent and it came quickly, dyeing the red satin cover a blood-red hue.

Santana sighed and fished out her phone. Someone had to ensure that Ashley would get home safely. Angry young people tended to do stupid things.

Once she was certain her other best friend, Mercedes Jones, had received her text, she went over to her miserable friend and wrapped her arms around her, rocking and shushing her like a baby.

As confused and befuddled as she was, this was not the time to ask for details.

After the tears had depleted themselves and left Brittany staring bleakly out from tears-ravaged eyes, Santana tucked her friend in like a child and sat by her until she fell asleep. She didn't have to wait long. Emotionally drained and physically tired from a day's work at the studio, Brittany entered her dream world seconds after her head had touched the pillow.

Santana sighed, staring down at her friend. What the hell had happened that would have the two usually close sisters tearing each other's hair out. She would not get her answer today.

Shaking her head, she stood up to give her body a long, hard stretch. It had been a long day, and more work awaited her tomorrow. As expected, Kitty's family had met the news of their daughter with shock and grief. She had waited till the tears had subsided before she started questioning them. It hadn't been easy, both for the family and her. It never was. But she had managed to dig out some information that might be helpful to her case.

Kitty had been exceptionally happy for the past month, at least according to her parents. For the past one month, she had been out early and back late, and when she was home, she spent most of her time chatting happily over the phone or seated before the computer, Skyping.

"I think she got herself a boyfriend," Mrs. Wilde had blown noisily into a piece of drenched tissue, blinking away a new bout of tears, "I didn't want to ask her about it because she doesn't like us probing into her personal life."

Now, why would anyone who had been riding on cloud nine suddenly commit suicide. It made no sense, which meant that they could definitely rule out suicide on this one.

"What did you do? Who did you offend?" Santana muttered to herself as she mulled over the case.

When she stepped out into the living room, all thoughts temporarily dissipated, "You've got to be fucking kidding me," she scowled as she took in the ravaged room, running her fingers through her hair in frustration.

The mess would not be easy to clear. And since Brittany didn't look like she was going to be in the mood for house cleaning anytime soon, nor would the mess clear up by itself, she might as well get started.

She grumbled under her breath as she swept up and threw away broken glass, picked up fallen cushions, wiped up spilt drinks and rearranged things that had been thrown out of place.

The consolation was that she could still think while she worked.

She had asked Mrs. Wilde for the names of some of Kitty's close friends. Girls would often share their deepest secrets with their besties, or did they, she thought as she threw a dirty look at the closed bedroom door behind her. Why then did she feel like she should have at least some inkling about what had just triggered the fight between Brittany and Ashley? Maybe Mercedes would know. But even as she reached for the mobile phone she had stuck in her back pocket, it started ringing.

"Hey 'Cedes," she stuck the phone in the crook of her neck as she continued mopping, "Did you get Ashley home?"

"Yes I did. But more importantly, why did I even have to be the one sending her home? Couldn't you have done it? Did you see how that girl looked? What happened?"

Santana sighed dramatically into the phone, "Yes I did. She had the exact same expression as the one living in my house."

She could imagine Mercedes's eyes widening comically, "What happened? They fought? Brittany and Ashley?" she repeated.

"Uh huh," Santana tutted her tongue sympathetically.

"Oh hell to the no."

"Tell me about it."

"Do you want me to come over?"

Santana blew away a lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes and shifted the phone to a more comfortable position, "If you want to help me clean up my house, yes. Feel free to come over. They've practically destroyed this place in the process of trying to cut each other's faces up. Fuck."

"What happened?" Mercedes asked for the third time, "If I have to ask you again, I'm going to come over just to kick your ass!"

Santana scoffed, "You can definitely try, but like hell you'll even be able to touch my hot ass."

"Santana," Mercedes warned.

"Don't ask me!" Santana snapped defensively, "I wasn't the one with my claws out!"

"You're the one living with Britt, aren't you? Surely, you know more about this than me!"

Santana huffed as she wiped up the last of the juice and brought the dirty cloth over to the sink, "All I know is that they were trying to kill each other. I got home from work, I heard them screaming at each other, I saw them fighting. That's about it. You know, I see enough of this at work, I don't need to come home to this kind of drama," she finished rinsing the cloth and proceeded to the bathroom to wash her feet, "Brittany's asleep now. I'll ask her about it tomorrow. Well, If I see her," she added.

It was Mercedes's turn to sigh, "You two live together but you guys barely see each other."

Santana shrugged, "Can't be helped. We both work irregular hours. Whenever I'm home, she's at the studio or at rehearsing for some show. And whenever she's home..."

'You're out trying to get yourself killed," Mercedes finished the sentence for her.

Santana laughed, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. You were never supportive of my job," she smiled as she wiped her wet feet on the toilet rug, "Don't worry about it though Wheezy, Britt and I still love each other. But we still have a little left in us to spare you some love," she added with a smirk, "We could always do a threesome if ever you decide to leave Trouty Mouth."

Mercedes gave a loud, frolicking guffaw and played along, "Us three eh? Sounds promising. I'll consider it. Maybe I'll come over at night if Sam has to work late."

"Go over where?" Santana heard Sam's voice in the background, "Who are you talking to honey?"

"My lover. Go away, I need to whisper sweet nothings to him," she heard Mercedes say to Sam and smiled in content.

Those two were always teasing each other, even after marriage. But she had to admit, they were good together, even if they were an unlikely pair. Who would have imagined Aretha and White Chocolate actually beating all the odds and making it to marriage?

"Sorry love. I don't think we can do that threesome. My husband caught me," Mercedes said then squealed as Sam stuck a finger into her rib.

"No problem 'Cedes. On second thoughts, you're not my type anyway and I doubt you're any good in bed."

Mercedes scoffed at the insult, "My husband can vouch for me. Sam, am I good in bed? Santana's asking," she blurted the question much to Santana's chagrin.

"Mercedes!" Santana protested only to have Sam's cheerful voice answer her.

"Hello Santana. To answer your question, yes my wife has the most amazing booty. She has..."

Santana heard a slight scuffle when Mercedes snatched back the phone, "That's enough Sam! Santana doesn't need too much information or she'll get jealous!"

At which, the detective couldn't help but scoff again, "As if I'll ever get jealous of you two. I get enough action as it is."

"Yeah yeah. You're a regular Casanova. Anyway," Mercedes continued in a serious tone, "I'll drop by tomorrow morning, just to check in on Britt. Maybe, we could have a few drinks and do some catching up? I haven't seen you in a while."

"Actually, I just met you two weeks ago," Santana corrected wryly, "But fine, whatever, I understand if you can't get enough of me."

Ignoring the obscene noises Mercedes was making in the speaker, she continued, "I may not be around though. Have to work on a case. But hopefully, I'll be back in the early evening and we can talk about it. If you could keep Britt company in the day, that'll be great. That is if you can tear yourself away from your hubby."

She heard Mercedes give a snort of disapproval, "Working on a Sunday. Seriously Santana, you have no life. You should really consider..."

"Try to make some children with Sam tonight. Maybe then, you could find someone else to nag at," Santana interrupted, then ended the call abruptly before Mercedes could try to talk her out of being a cop. Again.

Ha take that. She snickered as she imagined the things Mercedes would be complaining to Sam about. _Hell to the no! That girl did not just put down on me! Cue finger snap and diva wave._

Even after her imagination had died down, she was still smiling, a small curve of the lips that showed her content - a rare feeling that she experienced these days.

She ruthlessly pushed away certain thoughts that had started creeping in at the edge of her mind; thoughts that would have her wallowing in self-pity. Instead, she shook them off, and walked stoically to her room to get her towel and a set of clothes. She would not think of Darcy. She would not allow herself to.

_Fuck, she missed her. _

Angry with herself for that thought, she snatched a fluffy white towel from the drawer and swore when she slammed the drawer against her fingers. Even thinking about Darcy brought her bad luck.

She brought her fingers to her lips and gently blew at them, then cursed again. Before Darcy had taught her that, she would never have blown at her fingers like that. What a wussy move. She simply rubbed them against her body hard and allowed herself the pleasure of swearing generously. So that was what she did.

"Fucking shit piece of drawer. You fuck face wood," she almost kicked the cabinet for good measure but retained the good mind to remember that if she did, she would have to start the whole ritual again.

Instead, she settled for stomping childishly to the bathroom for her shower, allowing the water to wash away the day's worth of pain and sorrow. She would seek the justice that Kitty deserved.

Dressed in a grey tank top and shorts, she trouped over to Brittany's room to check on her best friend before proceeding to her own room. There, she wheeled out the whiteboard that was a permanent placement in her room. She used that as her murder board. Drawing out mind maps and looking at them helped her to find links and connections that she might otherwise have missed out.

She toweled her hair while looking down at the open black book on her table. Written on it was a list of people that she would have to interview. As of now, she had about 20 names she could like to strike off her list by tomorrow.

If her gut feeling wasn't wrong, and it rarely was, the murderer could be Kitty's love rival at school, probably female. She also probably wouldn't be turning up at school anytime soon, she thought as switched off the lights.

Love, she rolled her eyes, as she snuggled into the cozy arms of her blanket, sometimes made people do stupid things they would live to regret. She would know.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for all the follows, favourites and reviews. To get over 20 follows for the first chapter was pretty staggering so thank you very much for the encouragement. I have to admit I now fear disappointing but I shall try my best. **

**Onward! **

* * *

The woman who greeted them at the door was distraught. Santana could tell. Hell, anyone could tell.

But even in her grief, Quinn Fabray was smartly attractive. She was of medium height, with a lean form under her smart business suit. The sleek pencil skirt she was sporting showed off slim hips and slender legs. Her face though sad and tired, was stunning, framed by honey-blonde hair that skimmed slender shoulders. But it was her eyes that captured Santana's attention.

Quinn had the sort of eyes you couldn't quite identify the colour of. It looked sort of green but then it also looked sort of brown. Santana figured the closest word she could use to describe the shade of Quinn's eyes was hazel but it didn't seem to do the colour justice; the word was much too simple for the depth and intensity of it. What she could easily identify was the sorrow clouding those lovely eyes, and how they were now being used to size her and Puck up.

"Good morning Ms. Fabray, I'm Santana Lopez and this is my partner, Noah Puckerman. We're the detectives in charge of Kitty's case," she held out her badge to prove her identity.

Red-rimmed eyes flickered from her badge to their faces. Seemingly satisfied at the authenticity of the identification, Quinn nodded, "I've been expecting you. My mother called but I didn't realise you would be here so quickly."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Fabray," Santana said simply but sincerely.

Despite the number of times she had had to use the phrase, practice never made it easier to say. In her rookie days, she had suffered sleepless nights trying to come up with gentler ways to relay death. But death was a cruel and harsh reality. It offered no room for comfort and sympathy.

Eventually, she had given up on the idea. It was best to keep it simple: I'm sorry for your loss. Who would have thought that straight-talking, sharp-tongued Santana would one day be lost for words? But if she had learned anything from her years in the force, it was this: death claimed everything.

"Is there perhaps somewhere we can sit down, somewhere where you'll be more comfortable? We won't take much of your time but it would help us if you could answer some questions we have."

Dazed. She was still so dazed. But even as Santana thought it, she saw the clouds in those hazel eyes clear, "Of course, of course. I'm sorry, I just…I wasn't expecting this so early. Sorry, give me a minute."

They gave Quinn the minute she needed and watched as she pinched the bridge of her nose with shaky fingers. When she opened her eyes, it looked like her efforts to calm herself down had worked.

In a much steadier voice, Quinn gestured for them to enter her office, "Sorry about that. We can sit in my office. Would you like a drink, some coffee perhaps? I know I could use one."

"Well, ah, sure. Thanks," Puck smiled politely.

"Please feel free to take a seat first. I'll be right back."

While Quinn was off brewing their coffee, Santana took the time to glance around the office. It was a big room, spacious, orderly and decorated with both style and money. She glanced at the famous paintings on the walls, took in the chestnut table, the mahogany doorframe and Oriental rug. It was obvious Quinn was someone who had good taste and appreciated art. This was a good office to work in. Stylish but not ostentatious.

There were some personal touches too, Santana mused as she crouched down to inspect the few photos on the desk. She felt a twinge of pity when she identified Kitty Wilde in one of the pictures. She was smiling so brightly there, without a care in the world. And now? She wouldn't have the chance to care even if she wanted to.

Turning away, she moved on to the other objects on the table – a small, potted plant (which reminded her she had to water her own when she got back to the office), a framed poem by Edgar Allan Poe (she knew only because he was credited at the end), a holder containing an assortment of stationery and a misshapen clay cup that had to be the work of a child, or a very untalented adult.

Intrigued, she picked up the cup and scowled at the ugly face glowering back at her, "You're an ugly piece of work, aren't you?"

Turning the cup such that the face was now looking at Puck, she grinned at her partner, "Hey Puck, check this out. I found something uglier than you. Never thought that was possible."

He snorted and was about to retort when Quinn returned with three steaming mugs of coffee.

"I see you've found Ernie."

Embarrassed that she had been caught playing with the cup, Santana quickly lowered it back to the table.

"Sorry," she scratched her nape awkwardly, "I have a bad habit of touching things that don't belong to me."

Quinn chuckled as she placed the mugs down, then took her own cup around the desk to sit, "I can empathize. Ernie has a certain charismatic quality to him."

"Did you make it yourself?"

Quinn's brows lifted in amusement as she took a sip of coffee, "Oh goodness, no," she laughed, her eyes twinkling, "I like to think I'm able to produce work of a more passable quality than a six-year-old kid. Ernie is a gift from my niece," she clarified.

"Ernie, as in Ernie and Bert from Sesame Street?"

"Your niece takes pottery lessons?"

The two detectives asked at the same time, Santana in disbelief and Puck in awe.

"Yes to pottery lessons," she smiled at Puck and picked up the cup, "And as for whether this is Ernie from Sesame Street? I have no idea," she scrunched up her nose at the lopsided face staring back at her, "I never dared ask Grace just in case I hurt her feelings."

"Tender young hearts," Santana agreed as she settled herself down next to Puck.

Picking up her mug, she mumbled her thanks and downed a generous gulp of coffee. She definitely could use the caffeine. Sleep had not come easily the previous night.

"This is good," she hummed as the rich caffeine kicked in.

"My secretary would be pleased to hear that. She's the one who taught me how to make a mean cup of coffee. So detectives," Quinn leaned forward in her chair and pressed her fingers together, "How may I help you?"

"You work on Sundays, Ms. Fabray?" Puck asked as he pulled out a notepad and a recorder.

"Call me Quinn please. Not usually, I don't. The company's been pretty busy recently," she closed her eyes briefly and took a moment to compose herself, "I didn't want to come in after... what happened last night but my house is like a funeral now, and I needed to get out. Work is my best distraction."

She paused and looked down at her cup, tracing an unpolished finger over the rim, "We're close, Kitty and I. She is.. was like my sister," she lowered her head and let out a bitter laugh, "It's going to take me a while to get my tense right."

"You'll get there," Santana offered sympathetically, then looked at Puck.

It was time to begin.

"When was your last contact with Kitty?"

"About a week ago. She called to complain about being forced to attend summer school."

"Do you know anyone who would have cause to harm her?"

"What? No! She's just a college student. What kind of enemies could she possibly make?" Quinn took a shuddering breath, rubbed at her temple, "My mum said they found a suicide note but I don't believe it. And neither do you if you are questioning me. What's going on?"

The two detectives exchanged a subtle glance. It appeared that Quinn Fabray was a sharp one.

"I'm afraid we can't release specific information to you at this point. But yes, we believe there's foul play involved."

"Shit," Quinn shoved to her feet, took a turn around the room, "I knew it. Kitty wouldn't kill herself. She would never do something like that."

"You said Kitty and you were close. Close enough to tell you things? Would you know for instance, who she dated, who she had a problem with?"

Quinn looked down with a frown, "Like a jealous boyfriend? No," she shook her head then corrected herself, "I mean yes. Kitty looks up to me very much. She usually tells me things but I've been so busy for the past few months," she smoothed her skirt down, a move done to calm the nerves rather than to iron out any non-existent creases, "I'm sorry. I need to stand. Standing makes me feel better."

"No problem. Do what you need to be comfortable."

"Kitty has a temper. She's – " her hands circled in the air as she tried to find the right phrase to use, "Well to put it bluntly and if we abide by the stereotype, Kitty would be your typical college bitch. She has a sharp tongue and isn't afraid to speak out. That has gotten her into plenty of trouble before. But if you get to know her, to really know her, she can be a sweetheart. She's just misguided."

She sucked in a deep breath and continued, "We talked often enough, mostly on the phone. But the past few times we spoke, I had been forced to cut her off to attend a meeting or to a client."

And she regretted it. She would be blaming herself for a long time to come.

"Do you recall anything different about her then, the last time you spoke?"

Quinn frowned as she thought back to their previous conversation, "Not that I can think of."

"Her parents mentioned she been exceptionally happy for the past month."

Her expression cleared and a small smile appeared on her face, "Oh that. Yes, yes she was. We had a family gathering just a short while back," she chuckled softly, "I was teasing her about a boyfriend. She had been so embarrassed."

The smile faded and it was easy to guess where Quinn's thoughts were heading. There would be no more teasing, no more new moments created. Not with Kitty Wilde.

Santana leaned forward, clasping her hands together to refrain from reaching out. She wanted to soothe the lines on Quinn's forehead, to erase the sadness in her eyes. Quinn looked so much like a lost puppy and she found it surprisingly unbearable.

She cleared her throat and took a sip from her mug. If she was thinking that way, she must be more tired that she thought she was, "Did she tell you anything about this boy?"

"No. She was so tightlipped about it. She said she would tell me if things got serious, but I couldn't get a name out of her. So I just made the usual comment about being careful and protecting herself, just to embarrass her you know?" she looked away and blinked back tears, "But you should try asking Bree."

"Bree?" Puck asked, jotting down the name on his notepad.

"Yes. Bree is Kitty's best friend. They go to the same school and they're both in cheerleading together. They're practically inseparable; you know how girls can be," she inclined her head to Santana, who nodded back.

She did understand. After all, she had two of the very best.

"If there's anything about Kitty that you need to know, I'm sure Bree would know it. Kitty tells her everything. I'm certain of it."

"We'll do that. Thank you for your time Ms. Fabray," Santana rose, extending her hand to Quinn's.

"Anything I can do to help."

When their palms made contact, she jerked slightly, startled by the slight jolt that ran up her arm. _What was that?_ She stared down at her tingling fingers. _Had Santana felt it too?_ She wondered, scrutinizing the detective's face. If she had, she couldn't tell. But if she had not, would she still be watching her so closely with those intense, brown eyes?

"Thanks for your time, Ms. Fabray," Puck spoke up from the side and the moment was gone.

Carefully extracting her hand from Santana's grip, she rearranged her features into a smile and slipped her hand into Puck's proffered one.

"Quinn," she corrected again, "You'll find who did this, won't you? And why?"

Her eyes went hard, icy and for a moment, Santana felt pity for anyone who had been unfortunate enough to earn that frost, "But even then, Kitty wouldn't be coming back to us."

And that was the problem with justice. For the people who had lost, what they wanted most would never be returned. But it would have to do.

"We'll do our best," Santana nodded, her hand already pressing down on the door handle.

Before she could turn it, the door burst open and smacked directly into her face.

"Quinn! I heard about… oh my God. I'm so sorry!"

Stars exploded in Santana's head and she bent over, clutching the middle of her face, "Fucking hell!"

"Holy mother of.. Fuck. Goddamn it," she cursed with aplomb, willing the pain to abate.

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry!" the high-pitched voice squealed again. Hands started fluttering over her back, her neck, her face, "I didn't mean it! I…"

"It's okay. It's fine. It was an accident," she heard Puck's concerned voice floating somewhere above her then Quinn's calm one.

"I think we should move her to the couch."

She let herself be guided to some end of the room, where she was pushed down onto what she assumed was the couch.

"Rachel, can you get some ice please?"

"She's bleeding. I didn't mean…"

"Yes I can see that. Ice, Rachel," Quinn said firmly.

The sound of fading footsteps told her that Rachel had complied.

"Shit Lopez. That was Galadriel!" Puck whispered in awe once the door had snapped shut.

"What?" she asked, pain reverberating from the tip of her nose to the entire right side of her face.

"Galadriel! From 'Sons of Solomon'!"

"Are you being serious right now? I'm bleeding here and you go gaga over a fictitious character. Way to know your priorities, Puckerman," she snarked but of course she knew exactly who Galadriel was. She herself caught every episode of that drama, even thought she hated sci-fi.

Cool fingers pried her hands away from her throbbing face and stroked her hair back. When she opened her eyes, little white dots danced before her such that she could barely make out Quinn's face.

"Here," Quinn said gently, pressing a ball of tissue against the base of her nose to stem the blood flow, "Pinch the bridge."

She hissed and made to pull away, but Quinn was quicker. With a firm hand behind the back of her head, the blonde held her in place, "Don't move. You don't want more blood dripping onto your shirt."

Sure enough, when she looked down, she saw drops of blood staining her white top.

She groaned, "I like this shirt."

Quinn laughed softly and took Santana's chin with her free hand, brushing her cheek with her thumb as she scanned her face, "It's definitely going to bruise but I don't think you broke anything."

"Thank fuck for that," she looked down at Quinn with watery eyes and that was when she realised how close their faces were. Close enough for her to see every freckle, to smell her perfume, to feel her breath on her cheek, to kiss her.

Before she could put her thought into action, the door opened once more and Rachel reappeared, a bag of ice in her hands.

"Here," she hurried over and handed it to Quinn.

"Keep your head down. You're still bleeding," Quinn instructed then gently pressed the cold pack to her face.

Refreshing, delicious cold numbed the ache and she sighed at the relief it provided, "Fuck Berry, you could have broken my nose."

"I'm so sorry Santana. I didn't expect anyone to be standing behind the door."

A very apologetic-looking Rachel hovered anxiously over her, wringing her hands in worry, "Maybe we should get you to a doctor."

"No," she snapped out, "No doctor. You know I hate clinics. I'm fine," she pulled the soaked tissue from her nose to prove her point then swore when blood dribbled into her mouth.

"Stop squirming," Quinn chided with a frown, thrusting a new ball of fresh napkins into her hands, "You two know each other?"

"Unfortunately yes," Santana muttered under her breath but the sides of her lips were turned up into a smile.

"We were in a girl group together!" Rachel declared proudly.

"Girl band," Santana corrected through gritted teeth. It didn't really make a difference but a band sure as hell sounded more kickass than a pussy group. She would punch the next person who dared call her Scary Spice, "And the only reason why I joined was because Britt begged me to."

"Brittany is a mutual friend of Santana's and mine," Rachel explained for the benefit of Quinn and Puck, "We took a few classes together in NYADA and when we decided to form a band called the Apocalipsticks. Brittany roped Santana in."

"While I take full credit for the name, I have nothing to do with NYADA. Just for the record."

"You say it as if it's a bad thing," Rachel scowled down at her in disapproval, hands on her hips.

"Isn't it? Everyone there bursts out in song and dance every few minutes. Every time I set foot in NYADA, I feel like I'm in a Disney movie. It's like I'm in a horror flick," she lifted the napkins from her nose and sniffed, "I think the bleeding has stopped."

Adjusting the ice pack in her grip, Quinn bent over to examine her face. She winced when she saw the purple bruise blooming from the tip of Santana's nose, right up to her cheekbone to the corner of her eyes.

"That looks painful," Puck supplied helpfully, whistling through his teeth.

"That's because it is genius."

She sighed, taking the ice from Quinn, "Shit. I'm meeting people tonight. Does anyone have a mirror?"

"I do," Rachel rummaged through her bag and drew out a small plastic mirror in the shape of a star.

Santana took one look at it and turned her nose up in disdain, "I can't use this."

"Why not?"

"It's pink," she huffed childishly.

"Well it's all I've got. Do you want to know how you look or not?"

Glancing suspiciously at the mirror again, she heaved out a dramatic sigh and took it. What she saw had her grimacing, "Oh boy. I look like I had a fight with the door and lost."

"Well, technically that's what happened," Puck supplied helpfully again, grinning down at her, "But don't worry babe. You're still hot."

He patted her on the shoulder companionably, then turned to Rachel and stuck his hand out, "Hello. I'm Puck, Santana's suave and handsome partner, and your greatest fan. May I just say I love your work in 'Song of Solomon'. Your take on Galadriel is simply the bomb man."

"Thank you!"

When Rachel beamed and took his hand, he felt his heart rate soar and swore he went to heaven. Of course, Santana had to drag him right down.

"You might want to be careful with this one, Berry. He has your posters all over his locker. Stalker material if you ask me," she smiled sweetly at Puck when he glared at her.

"Now Santana, you know how I value every fa –"

"Nope I don't and I don't want to hear it. What are you doing here anyway?"

"I work here!" Rachel sniffed indignantly, "I heard about –" she seemed to falter, started to backtrack but her shifty glance at Quinn gave her away.

In a heartbeat, the lighthearted atmosphere that had dominated the room for the past few minutes came to a breaking halt. Depression settled in again and reminded them that death had occurred and would not be stopped.

"I… I'm here for Quinn," she tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear somewhat shyly and shuffled her feet.

"Well, we've got to get going anyway," Santana rose and smiled politely at Quinn, "Thanks once again for your time Ms. Fabray and for the ice," she held up what was now a sopping bag of water."

"Oh. Let me see you out," Quinn started, made to move but was stopped by a squeeze to her shoulder.

"Nah, stay. We've taken enough of your time and given you enough trouble as it is. We'll see ourselves out."

On her way out, Santana gave Rachel a similar squeeze and a meaningful look that could only mean one thing. _Take care of her_.

And wasn't that curious? Rachel quirked a brow, looking to and fro between Santana's departing frame and Quinn's unwavering line of view.

It was only after the door had clicked shut behind Santana that her boss finally turned to face her.

"You have an interesting friend," was all she said before gulping down the rest of her coffee at one go. In what she thought must have been a subtle pass, she asked, "You don't suppose they're together, do you?"

Very curious indeed, she grinned with glee.

"Who?" she asked, all innocence.

"The two detectives?"

Rachel guffawed at the thought of Santana being with Puck, or any guy for the matter, "Nah." She drawled the syllable out.

"You sound certain."

"Trust me, I am."

"Oh," she almost managed to sound disappointed, "They would have made a cute couple."

Right. And if Quinn really thought that, she was not the next Barbara Streisand. Perhaps, it was time for Rachel the matchmaker to make an appearance.

* * *

Though Santana's face was still throbbing like a bitch, they decided to swing by Bree's house. It was a Sunday, barely 10am and so the roads were clear.

People were just beginning to wake up. Many would continue to laze around an hour more before making their way to the air-conditioned shopping malls or the sweltering beach.

She wondered which Quinn would choose. The businesswoman had looked comfortable enough in a suit. But Santana was sure she would look as comfortable and as attractive, if nor more so, in something more casual.

She had felt the jolt when their fingers had met, had recognized it as a spark. And had decided to dismiss it as nothing more than a spark. She was a practical, 27- year-old woman, not the naïve romantic she had been just a few years ago. Three years could change a lot in a woman. She would not open her heart only to have it shattered again, as it had been trampled on and mauled apart then.

"So, you were in a girl group?" Puck snuck her a cheeky look from the passenger seat, his hands folded behind his head.

"What's it to you?" she slipped him the eye, then smacked his feet off her dashboard.

"Hey!"

"I just had my car cleaned doofus."

"I can't believe you've known Galadriel all along and never told me!"

"Her name is Rachel," she rolled her eyes, tapping her fingers on the wheel as she waited for the light to turn green.

Seeing that there were no cars on either side of the junction, she inched out and sped off even as the light stayed red.

"Whoa there, speedy," Puck hurtled forward with wide eyes, turning around comically in his seat, "Do you want to get a ticket?"

"The roads were empty. I'm not wasting time behind a light," Santana argued as she made a sudden turn to the left.

"I hate it when you drive."

"Then get your own car," she shot back as she changed lanes without signaling.

"You know I love me my two-wheelers. So," he waggled his brows at her, "How long have you known Rachel for?"

"Weren't you listening in there?" she scowled then winced when pain radiated down her face, "We met in college. And she's off-limits," she added when she saw her partner's dreamy expression.

"You're no fun!" He crossed his hands over his chest with a huff, "Any more superstar friends that you've been hiding?" he joked.

"As a matter of fact, I do," she grinned when she saw Puck's jaw dropped.

"Who?"

"Mercedes Jones," she smirked smugly.

"Shaking' My Hair Mercedes Jones?" he goggled at her. When she nodded, he slapped her on the shoulder, "I've been your partner for two years! Why has this not come up before?"

"You've never asked," she shrugged, then checked the rear view mirror as she reversed into an empty parking space.

"How did you know her?"

"We went to high school together."

"Another girl band?"

She laughed as she climbed out of the car, "Actually, it was a girl group this time."

"Damn. So how come you're here instead of being one of them?"

"You know? I ask myself that every time we have to do a case together," she answered smartly before rapping him hard on the side of the head, "Head in the game Noah," she said then rang the bell before he had time to react.

"Detective Lopez and Detective Puckerman from the NYPD," Santana held out her badge when the door opened.

The eyes that met theirs were fearful and knowing, and in that instant, they knew.

"Where's Bree?" Santana demanded as she pushed against the door the man was trying to close, "Where's your daughter?"

"She's not in!" he shouted as he struggled with the door. Behind him, a woman, presumably his wife was crying, her hands over her mouth as she wept.

Puck pushed past the man to enter the house, cop eyes sweeping about the house, storing bits of information as he took in the messy room. Clothes, both clean and unwashed were strewn all over the sofa. Newspapers lay spread out across the table. Food packets took up half the dining table, uncleared.

"It was an accident!" The woman cried out, stepping in front of Puck when he moved towards a closed door leading to what had to be Bree' room, "She didn't mean to do it!"

He took her shoulders, steered her away as gently as he could. When the woman struggled in his arms, he exchanged a hapless glance with Santana.

"Let my wife go!" her husband ran forward, fists raised to attack, "Stop agitating her!'

Santana made to stop him but they all froze when they heard something shatter behind the closed door. The wife simply fell to the floor, exhausted, her hands flying up to clutch at her heart, while Santana and the husband dashed over to the room.

Santana reached first, her gun already drawn as she swung open the door. At the sight before him, the man let out a wretched yell while Santana's eyes widened.

She stuffed the gun back into the holster, crossed over the small room in three strides and picked up the fallen girl from the floor. Blood was spurting out in sprays from her slashed wrists.

Apparently frightened at the commotion outside and the prospect of being convicted, Bree had chosen the easy way out. She had smashed the mirror with a paperweight, picked up one of the shards and slit it vertically over both her veins.

"Call 911!" Santana shouted to Puck as she tried to stem the rush of blood with a strip of cloth she had ripped from her own shirt.

Working quickly, she applied pressure to the wound, gently pushing up the girl's wrist to elevate it. She was vaguely aware of the father retching, the mother fainting and Puck's rapid chatter into the phone. But she blocked it all out, focusing on what was crucial. Sweat beaded at her forehead, mixed with the blood that had spurted up at her.

"Get me some ice," she snapped, "And some clean bandage."

There was no time for courtesy. No time for manners. It was a huge gash. If she didn't stop the blood before the ambulance came, the girl would die.

"Tie the bandage around her arm," Santana instructed when Puck came back in with a roll of bandage, a pair of scissors and a tray of ice.

He did as he was told, anxiety etched on his face, while she continued applying pressure to the wounds.

Bree was staring up at them with huge, frightened eyes. She wasn't ready to die.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine," Puck said kindly to her, "The ambulance will be here soon. Don't be scared. Now, breathe with me. In. Out. There you go, there's nothing to be afraid of."

With Puck soothing her and Santana doing the best that she could, Bree was still conscious when the ambulance arrived.

They looked on as the whole family was packed into the vehicle and rushed off to the hospital, accompanied by a police cruiser. The uniforms would handle all the paperwork and notify the hospital of Bree's unique status. As for Puck and Santana, they wouldn't be needed till their suspect was in stable condition and ready for questioning.

"She's the one," Puck said quietly as he watched the ambulance peel out of the car park, "Why would she do something like that? She's the best friend."

There was a slight pause, then, "Your hands are shaking."

Puck let out a shaky laugh. He lifted his hands to see that they were indeed trembling, "I'm used to dealing with corpses, not bodies in the process of becoming corpses."

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," he muttered then bent over, his hands over his knees. He suddenly felt sick.

"Hey, hey," Santana immediately lowered to him, "You did good. Come on, let's sit."

She guided him over to nearby bench and eased them down.

"Do you need some water? I can get some water?" she asked gently, rubbing her palm up and down his back.

"No, no. I just need a minute," he croaked, still bent over, "Fuck. Why would she do something like that? They were best friends."

Santana thought back to all the times she saw Brittany and Ashley enjoying each other's company, then to the one time she saw them fighting. Sometimes, just a moment of anger was enough to push someone over the edge.

She shook her head sadly, "People. We're not meant to understand them."

Her eyes steeled over, hardened when she remembered the image of Kitty's broken body lying on the pavement, the tears that had been shed for her, the hazel eyes that had shone with sorrow and loss.

Then, she lifted her head up and closed her mouth in a long, thin line, "But she'll regret it. She'll regret it for life. And if she doesn't, we'll make sure she feels that way by the time we're done with her."

With that, she pulled Puck close and they gained comfort in that rare, intimate moment they shared.

* * *

She would have to get her car washed again, Santana sulked as she climbed up the stairs to her apartment. To think she had just gotten it thoroughly cleaned the week before. She supposed her mechanic would be pleased to see her so soon. Or not. Her car would not clean easily.

The interior now stank of blood. She had managed to wipe off some of the stains Puck and her had left on the black leather seats but she would still want her car to be scrubbed and disinfected.

She sighed as she kicked off her boots and stuck the key into the keyhole. It had been a long week and she needed a break, one she wouldn't be getting soon.

Her men had called her to let know that Bree's condition had stabilised. She had lost a lot of blood but other than that, she was fine and would be ready for interrogation the following day. After which, more house to house visits would be needed to confirm Bree's story, reports had to be filled. And even after all that, Kitty would not be returned to life.

She felt her heart grow heavy as she remembered the grieving faces of the deceased's family, and surprised herself by focusing on the face of one Quinn Fabray. She had looked so miserable, so lost. But in her vulnerability, Santana had also recognised strength and a cool head, both of which she could appreciate.

She shook her head, berating herself for her thoughts. She had more important things to concentrate on now, she thought as she turned the key and swung the door open to reveal Brittany in Mercedes' arms, her eyes red and teary as the black woman offered the dancer what must have been her hundredth tissue. The table was strewn with the white mess. It looked like she would have to get the house scrubbed and disinfected too.

Her two friends turned as one at her arrival and she watched in bafflement when they started screaming and falling over one another in their efforts to get to her.

"Oh sweet Jesus! Santana! Are you alright?"

"Call the ambulance, Mercedes!"

"What happened?"

"Call 911!"

"Why aren't you in the hospital?"

"I'm calling 911," Brittany whispered and started to punch the numbers on her phone.

"What? Wait, no," Santana frowned as she tried to process their concerns, recalled the blood on her clothes and skin and burst out laughing.

At her reaction, her two friends glanced at each other in dismay.

"Mercedes," Brittany clutched Mercedes in fear, "I think she's really hurt!"

"You think? She's finally taken a hit to the head too hard. I knew it was just a matter of time! I'm calling 911," she pulled out her phone but Santana grabbed her arm to stop her.

"It isn't supposed to be funny. But I really needed a laugh," she said in between laughs, a hand pressed to her stomach.

"This isn't my blood. I didn't have a change of clothes," she explained simply and watched as their faces cleared.

"I'll kiss you both for being so concerned but I think I need to take a really long shower first. Freshen up before I join you in a bit," she continued to snicker to herself as she headed to the toilet to rid herself of the mess.

* * *

**Just in case anyone is confused (to which I apologise for not doing a good enough job), here's some background information:**

**1. Santana, Brittany and Mercedes were in high school together. Together, they were in an all-girl glee club called The Troubletones. As adults now, Brittany is a Broadway dancer but has just started her own studio, Mercedes is a pop singer, and Santana a cop.**

**2. Brittany was Rachel's NYADA classmate. Santana was NOT from NYADA. The only reason why the both of them know each other is because Brittany roped Santana into their girl band called the Apocalipsticks.**

**3. Quinn and Rachel were in high school together. Quinn is the CEO of her father's artiste agency and since Rachel is represented by the Fabray company, that makes Quinn Rachel's boss. **

**If there are any further questions that you would like me to clarify, please shout out. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Just to clarify, Bree's case is not the main case in this story. I'm just using it as a platform to introduce all the characters. If we look at the summary as a guide, we're still at the "As one of the top homicide detectives in the NYPD, she has no time for silly fancies such as love and relationships, until Quinn Fabray comes along" stage.**

**That should change by the next 1-2 chapters. **

**Once again, thanks for the reviews and follows. I enjoy getting feedback so if there are any questions, please drop them in the review box/PM me and I'll definitely get back to you! And if you don't have any questions, well you can just drop something in the review box for the hell of it anyway XD**

**So enough talking and here we go!**

* * *

"Sorry we started without you," Mercedes said dryly when Santana walked back into the living room dressed in comfortable shorts and a tank top, her hair draped over a fluffy white towel. She was still feeling sore about the whole blood incident.

Santana snorted and threw herself onto the sofa. Mercedes was hardly ever sorry. She picked up one of three steaming cups of chocolate set on the table and propped her feet up, "So, what have I missed?"

"The muck on your face. You've forgotten to clean it off," Mercedes answered without missing a beat.

"What?" Santana blinked.

She had already washed off her make-up, was even settled down enough to be donning her glasses.

"Jesus, slap some ice over it would you?"

"The bruises," Brittany supplied when she noticed Santana's confusion.

She was sandwiched in between Mercedes and Santana, and thought her position a perfect representation of how she was always caught in the middle of her friends' silly sniping and snapping at each other. She never understood that but since they enjoyed it, she let them be.

"Oh, that," Santana touched her fingers to her nose, her eye, and winced at the throbbing pain. Could have been worse if Quinn hadn't iced it for her there and then. She owed Quinn one.

"Damn Rachel Berry."

Brittany's eyebrows lifted in surprise, "Rachel Berry? Our Rachel Berry?"

"The one and only. Never knew she had it in her."

On Brittany's left, Mercedes cracked up, "Rachel finally had enough of you and socked you right in the face? Took her long enough."

"Screw you Wheezy. Her hands are so tiny they'll just fly up my nose." Santana's lips pressed together in a thin line as she considered what she had just said, "Okay, no. I take that back. That would be gross."

When Mercedes started laughing again, she leaned past Brittany to smack her on the knee, "The point is Rachel can't throw a punch for nuts. She could try but she'll probably just sock herself in her own face."

"Right," Mercedes scoffed as she made a big deal of eyeing the purple bruises, "If China on your face is anything to go by, I say she succeeded."

"How about I show you just what a real China would look like on your face?" Santana challenged, rolling up imaginary sleeves as she rose.

Before they could continue trading insults, Brittany intervened and pulled Santana back down, "Be nice Mercedes. And you," she turned to her housemate with a stern look, "Go get yourself an icepack for your face. China is getting too big for its own good."

When Santana hesitated, the dancer gave her a little pinch in the ass, "Now."

"God, you're so bossy," she complained but complied anyway.

A minute later, she returned with an icepack, "Happy?"

Brittany leaned in, studied her face with catlike eyes.

"Not until you tell us how you got hurt."

Santana rolled her eyes, "It's not a big deal."

"We'll decide for ourselves after hearing it."

"Okay fine," Santana grumbled, "I was questioning someone for a case I got. Turns out Berry works there. She's not involved," she added hurriedly when she saw the concern on Brittany's face, "Puck and I were on our way out so we were behind the door and pow, Rachel comes in like a typhoon, slams a door in my face. Door meets face. Door wins. Face loses. It's as simple as that."

"Ow."

"Girlfriend got owned," Mercedes commented with a cringe.

"Yeah tell me about it," Santana made a face and slumped back against the cushions so she didn't have to keep holding the pack against her cheek. Gravity was created for a reason.

"So now that we've all known what has happened in the day of Santana Lopez, let's move on. Let's hear me some update," she demanded with a snap of her fingers.

Ever the gossipmonger, Mercedes' eyes lit up in excitement and delight, "Ooh, ooh. You'll like this one. Brittany is dating someone!"

Immediately intrigued, Santana sat up with her mug, "What?"

"I know right!" The singer squealed, "Guess who? Mike Chang!" she declared impatiently before Santana could even make a single pass.

Santana turned to Brittany with wide eyes, "Mike! Mike Chang? Defense attorney Mike? The one with the fucking delicious abs? The one who helped me in my last case Mike?" Santana exclaimed, turning from Brittany to Mercedes and back again.

She saw the stars in Brittany's eyes, the dreamy look on the dancer's face and let out an enthusiastic whoop, "No fucking way. This calls for celebration."

She put her mug down to pull her blonde friend into a tight hug.

She knew Mike personally, had been the one who had introduced Mike to Brittany when the latter had dropped by the office for a quick lunch date, and knew that he was a good man with a stable job and a generous heart, not to mention an awesome body. But that was beside the point. The point was that Brittany had finally found someone who could make her happy.

"But wait, hold up. I don't get it. So what's wrong?" she frowned, remembering the scene from last night.

Mercedes scowled at her, "What was wrong was that you had to introduce Mike to Ashley too. At that party of yours last month," she added at Santana's apparent bafflement, "Only you wouldn't have noticed Ashley was crazy about him. Idiot."

"You're the idiot," she shot right back.

"Ashley caught them making out on the couch yesterday when she came over and went crazy! That makes you the idiot."

"Shut your big fat hole, Wheezy. Why are you doing all the talking? This isn't even your story."

"Oh Mercedes! It wasn't Santana's fault. If it weren't for her, Mike and I wouldn't even have met!" Brittany cut in before the insults could start again.

The detective shot Mercedes a triumphant look and smirked as she lifted her mug up for a drink. The sudden smack on her arm had her sputtering and swearing.

"Fuck," she cursed, gathering up napkins to wipe off dribbled coffee from her chin.

"Shhhhh," Mercedes shushed with a finger on her lips as she turned back to Brittany, "Britt is trying to tell us something."

She ignored the middle finger that Santana flicked her and chose instead to concentrate on her other friend. Her attempt at being serious would have been successful had she managed to keep the upward quirk off her lips.

"You two are like children."

"You know we're not usually like that," Mercedes slung a cheerful arm over Brittany's slender neck.

Santana snickered from the side but made no comment. Revenge could be taken later.

"So little Ashley likes Mike too?"

Brittany shook her head miserably at Santana's choice of words, "Not little anymore. That was the problem, I saw her as little too. She's 18 this year. An adult."

"Hmmm," Santana considered, her lips pursed, her toned legs crossed. Not from the way she behaved yesterday, she wasn't, she thought but wasn't insensitive enough to voice that out.

Mercedes patted her friend's knee again and handed her some tissue when fresh tears welled up, "There, there Britt. It's not your fault. How should you have known she liked Mike?"

"Well I should have! She mentioned it but I just thought it was an innocent infatuation or some kind of idol respect. She wants to go to law school," Brittany sobbed, her arms flinging out to scatter more used tissue on the floor and sofa.

"Well it probably really is just an infatuation," Santana reasoned.

With some disgust, she flicked off a ball of mucus-laden tissue that had landed too close for comfort, "What's important is that you never meant to hurt her. You were in love with Mike and he with you. You saw only each other. Sometimes, it's as innocent as that," she finished off with her shrug.

When her friends turned to stare at her as if she had been possessed, she fired back, "What? I can be sensitive too, okay?"

"No, it's not that. That was actually quite…romantic," Brittany turned to Mercedes for support.

"Did that door hit you harder than we thought? Do you have a concussion?"

"Shove off Wheezy or I'll give you a concussion. And Britt, if you are thinking of giving Mike up for your sister –" she saw Brittany's hands clench around a cushion and knew she had indeed considered that, "– think again."

"How fair would it be for the three of you, especially Mike? He's not a toy to be passed around. And Ashley, you said she's not little anymore. Then fight her for Mike," she raised her shoulders again, brought it down, "She's not always going to get what she wants. That's how it works in the real world."

"Not literally of course! That's more Santana's thing," Mercedes felt a need to clarify and received a scowl for her effort.

"When are you going to drop that? That was in high school!"

"Have you forgotten the incident at the bar?"

"That was in college!"

"How about at the Irish pub when we were celebrating your graduation from the Academy?"

"That was an accident!"

"Right. He tripped, fell and landed into your fist," Mercedes snorted with derision, "Like you even believe that."

"I was drunk! I was just trying to put my arm around him but I missed, okay?"

"Please Santana, you were never friendly. Just admit it. You were –"

"Guys, guys!" Brittany interjected, shifting to push the both of them apart.

She rolled her eyes and sighed when they glowered at each other, "I thought I'm the one we were supposed to be talking about."

They backed down immediately and gave her a sheepish look.

"Right sorry Britt-Britt," Santana apologised, but not before shooting Mercedes one last glare, "So where was I?"

"You were asking them to fight over Mike," Mercedes contributed helpfully, snuggling back against the cushions.

"Oh yes right. My other point before I was so rudely interrupted is that Mike is more than a decade older than Ashley. I happen to know his type? And well, Ash isn't his type. So I can confidently say that even if you decide to dump him, which I insist you not do, Ash doesn't stand a chance," she finished off and Mercedes clapped.

"Never one to mince words. And always so rational about love. What would we do without you?"

Santana sent her a bland look while Brittany laughed, "You'll live. But life wouldn't be as meaningful without me."

Brittany squeezed her hand and she turned, "Mercedes may not be as appreciative but I am. I feel much better. Thanks Santana," her smile was sincere, grateful.

Santana beamed and patted the dancer fondly on the thigh, "And this is why I love you most and why we kicked you out, Mercedes."

"You didn't kick me out," Mercedes huffed, "I moved out of my own accord!"

"Because you were feeling left out."

"No, I wasn't! You're being a prick. Britt, get her to stop being a prick."

"I love you both so I'll appreciate if you both just shut the hell up."

And that settled the matter.

* * *

It was past midnight by the time Santana started making her way back from Mercedes' house, together with Brittany. The singer lived just five blocks away and the neighbourhood they stayed in was a decent one. Still, New York was New York and Santana would rather not take chances.

"I love it when we take midnight strolls together. When it's just the both of us." Brittany beamed, taking Santana's hand in hers and swinging it between them.

Glancing at the blonde with an amused arch of her brow, Santana let herself be pulled along, "You better not let Mercedes hear you sa.. Wait. On second thoughts, please repeat that in front of Mercedes so I can have bragging rights."

Brittany gave her hand a hard tug and pinched her earlobe playfully, "You're awful! You know what I mean. It's not as if I love Mercedes any less."

"Now you're just hurting my feelings."

Brittany's eyes glinted with humour, "I thought you didn't have feelings."

"Damn right. See, that's why you're my favourite because you know me best." She threw an arm around Brittany's waist and hugged her close, then turned when she heard someone call her name.

Quinn had been wondering if she should make her presence known. It would have been pleasant to meet the detective again if she hadn't been with her.. partner. She dropped her eyes to where Santana had intertwined her hands with her female companion and let it linger. So that was why Rachel was so certain Santana wasn't with Puck.

She sighed to herself as she observed the two women's interactions from the side. They were obviously comfortable with each other. Santana looked so happy, so relaxed and gorgeous with her hair fanning out behind her, her eyes sparkling with laughter. Quinn wanted to be looked at in the same way. She sighed again and decided to greet Santana anyway. For courtesy's sake.

She forced a smile on her face and stepped forward.

"Santana," she said and watched as the two women turned.

And of course, Santana's partner would be an attractive woman. Long blonde hair, endless legs that seemed to go forever, stormy blue eyes that twinkled out from her bangs. They made a cute couple, she concluded with some resentment.

"Hello." One of the women said but it wasn't Santana who had spoken.

"Who are you?" The companion asked in a straightforward manner.

"Britt!" Santana half-laughed, half-scolded, "Sorry about that," she said to Quinn.

"Britt, this is Ms. Fabray –"

"Quinn."

Santana smiled at the correction, "Sorry. Habit. Britt, this is Quinn. I met her on the job. Quinn, this is Brittany, my housemate and the best damn dancer you'll ever be able to find on the East coast."

"Awww Sanny," Brittany gushed and wrapped her arms around Santana's midsection from behind.

Brittany. Brittany. Why did that name sound so familiar? When Rachel's voice echoed in her head, she remembered.

_Brittany is a mutual friend of Santana's and mine. We took a few classes together in NYADA and when we decided to form a band called the Apocalipsticks. Brittany roped Santana in._

So they were college sweethearts and were now cohabitating. That was cute, definitely, definitely cute.

"Hello Brittany," she smiled warmly, offering her hand for a shake, "Are you the very same Brittany Rachel was telling me about this morning?"

"Oh! You know our Rachel?" Brittany asked with wide, curious eyes, her chin resting on Santana's shoulder.

A small smile tugged at her mouth, then faded immediately when the pieces fell and she realised Quinn must have been someone who knew Santana's newest victim.

Always sympathetic, she stepped out from behind Santana to envelope Quinn in a big, big hug, "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you?" Quinn responded in bewilderment as Brittany continued patting her on the back.

Over the dancer's shoulder, she saw Santana mouth an apology as she tried to pull Brittany away.

"She knows about the case," Santana muttered sheepishly.

"Who was it?" Brittany asked with genuine distress and sadness.

"My cousin."

"Oh Quinn! I'm so sorry for your loss. But don't worry. Santana will catch the person who did it in no time. She's good at what she does even if we worry for her."

Quinn smiled, touched by her concern. She had heard condolences from so many people throughout the day but they had just been words. Here was someone who really cared, really was grieved by her loss. The fact that Brittany was practically a stranger warmed her heart even more.

"Thank you," she said again and meant it.

When she finally pulled away from Brittany, she saw Santana watching her carefully. She shifted about in obvious discomfort and cleared her throat. Would Santana think she was hitting on her girlfriend? Because that certainly wasn't the case. After all, it was Brittany who hugged her first right? But hell, she would just apologise anyway. Just to be on the safe side.

"Sorry," she said to Santana and received a quizzical look in return.

She supposed she would have been jealous too if someone had hugged her girlfriend like that, "Erm I guess I'll get going first. It was nice seeing you two."

She started to leave when Santana's hand clamped down over her arm, "Where are you heading to? It's late."

"I'm just heading back. I live nearby," she jabbed a thumb back in a vague direction.

"Where are you walking home from? Certainly not from your office?" Santana noted the blonde was still in her business suit, "That's all the way downtown," she said with some concern, earning her a curious look from Brittany.

Quinn laughed, "Of course not. I'm not crazy. I'm just taking a walk to quiet my mind."

"In my book, taking a walk alone after midnight in any part of New York is crazy. Come on, I'm sending you back. Let me just drop Britt off first."

"What? No, that's not necessary."

"Of course it is."

"But I don't want to impose."

"You're not imposing."

With some amusement, Brittany watched the argument ping pong between Quinn and Santana for some time. But when Quinn started rejecting Santana's offer for the third time, she decided it was time to intervene if any of them were going to make it home at all.

"Quinn, the simplest solution here would be to heed this paranoid parrot's advice."

She ignored Santana's splutter of protest and ploughed on, "I've known Santana for a long time and trust me when I say the only way anyone of us would be getting home tonight is if you allow her to send you back. So please, please just say yes for my sake."

Seeing no other choice, Quinn nodded reluctantly.

"Finally," Brittany sighed in relief, then made a shooing motion with her hand, "Get going then you two."

"What? No. I'm se –" Santana turned on her but she was ready.

"Our place is just right up ahead. It's a straight road, the pathway is lit, there are no bushes anyone can jump out from. You know as well as I do that if there are any baddies out there, they're not going to be around here."

And how could Santana argue with that when it rang true.

"Alright fine," she huffed, clearly still uneasy with the idea.

Seeing that, Brittany took pity on her and demonstrated a perfect roundhouse kick with her fabulous legs, "See. If anyone dares try, let's just say I can take care of myself. You've taught me enough."

"That makes one of you," Santana grumbled, thinking of how Mercedes was a lost cause when it came to self-defense.

Brittany laughed, gave Santana's ass a friendly pat and sauntered away. Despite her efforts, she knew Santana would only start moving off after seeing her enter the building. As frustrating as that could be, it also made her chest warm knowing that there would always be someone who would look out for her.

Now, it was her turn to repay the favour. She counted to twenty then peeked out from inside the building. From what she could tell, Santana was staring at Quinn and shaking her head like a mad woman. Willow Smith's song started playing in her head.

_I whip my hair back and forth I whip my hair back and forth I whip my hair back and forth._

That song was so goddamn catchy. She bopped her head to the beat for a considerable length of time before she remembered herself.

Right. She was supposed to be spying. She peeped out again and sighed. Santana always did have no game when it came to people she liked and if Santana was not attracted to that pretty blonde, she would eat her own precious hair. People in love always wanted to see others in love.

She did a little jig, pumped her fists in the air and made a mental note to call Mercedes when she got back. Hell, she thought, took out her phone. She would call her now.

* * *

"Your face looks better."

"Yeah, thanks to you," Santana said, distracted. "Sorry," she glanced fleetingly at Quinn, gave her a small smile before training her eyes back on Brittany's disappearing back, "I just want to make sure she gets back safe first."

"That's okay. I understand. You're a very sweet girlfriend."

"Yeah, Britt can.. what?"

Santana's eyes went wide with shock and she started shaking her head profusely.

"You.. you think Britt and I are…"

Humour exploded on her face.

"No. God no. We thought about it in high school but…" she paused, shook her head again and reminded Quinn of a dog trying to shake water of its fur, "No. Just no."

So she was interested in girls then? Quinn thought and felt a surge of hope.

Santana shuddered once, twice, started walking, "Britt is very much attached now and I like to think she'll be very happy with her new guy. If she isn't," she gave the matter thought then shrugged casually, "Then I'll kick his ass."

"I see." Quinn said with a flush, feeling very much like an idiot, "You two just seemed so friendly. And she.. " she trailed off, tapped her hand in the air twice.

"Patted my bum?" Santana laughed, an adorable sound that must have been the origin of ha ha ha, "Yeah, I can see how you misunderstood."

_Time to test the waters. _

"Earlier on, I was wondering if Puck and you were an item but Rachel was confident you were not."

This time, disgust overtook Santana's features, "Puckerman?" She snorted, unsure if she should laugh or throw up.

"Puckerman?" she repeated, still too amused to add anything more than that. "Jesus. That's sick. And impossible," she said decisively.

"Why not?"

_And the moment of truth._

Santana turned to her, eyes gleaming.

It was unprofessional. It was against the book. It was completely unplanned but when she turned, Quinn was just there, looking at her so intensely with those eyes. And she had always been a sucker for pretty things all right? So she kissed her. So what?

And when she felt that jolt again, that punch in her gut, she had to do it again. So she did. And this time, she plundered.

The explosion of taste shocked her and sent her system into overdrive. Quinn tasted like excellent coffee, strong, black and exotic. What started as a simple kiss lasted longer, became more sensual and passionate than planned.

She felt Quinn's hands fist over her hair, her lips soft but firm moving against her own. When Quinn's tongue probed to be let in, she didn't even hesitate. Her mouth opened to allow for the wrestle of tongues, the clicking of teeth. For the moment they remained locked together, she found herself in bliss, unaware of her surroundings. She knew only what was in her arms.

When they parted, both breathing heavily, Santana gave herself points for being able to coax out a cocky smile. Keep it casual, keep it cool, she chanted her mantra in her head.

"So, did that answer your question?"

Still barely able to find her breath, Quinn's brain drew a blank, "What?"

"The question?"

"What question?"

Santana laughed at the flummoxed look on her face, "The question as to why it's impossible for Puck and I to be together?"

_Oh that._ She sure wasn't expecting her question to be answered in such a creative way. Not that she had anything to complain about.

"Yes, you certainly did," Quinn blinked, still dazed, touching her fingers to her lips, "He's equipped with the wrong plumbing."

Her choice of words had Santana bursting out in raucous laughter, "Couldn't have said it better myself."

Caught up in the moment and very much charmed, she linked her hand through Quinn's and gave it a gentle tug, "Come on Ms. Fabray. Let's get you home."

"At least buy me dinner first," she blurted out and dammit what was wrong with her?

Before she could say anything to make up for her big fat mouth, Santana had started laughing again.

"Is that a line? Because if that's you asking me out on a date, I have to say you're going to have to try harder than that."

"No, it was not a line."

"Well then, I'm glad, because that was an epic fail and I very much want to have dinner with you."

Quinn chuckled in amusement, "You're very straightforward, aren't you?"

"When you're in my line, you'll realise having that trait saves you a lot of time."

"Something tells me it wasn't a cultivated trait."

"I would love to continue having this conversation but I can't because one, it's dinner topic. And two, we've reached your place."

When Quinn looked up, sure enough, she was standing outside her building. Unsure of what to do, she stuck her hands into her pocket and tilted her head towards the main door, "Well then. I guess I'll see you around," she asked more than stated, and gave a feeble wave.

Santana frowned at the abrupt farewell, "Is that your way of saying yes to dinner? Because I'm really confused right now."

And though Quinn's heart leaped into her throat at the invitation, she played it cool. She had done enough stammering for the day. "You never asked."

"Okay, so now I'm asking. But we could perhaps start by exchanging numbers first. Wait for things to settle."

She didn't want to bring up what would make Quinn sad but she had to be honest. She wouldn't be in the mood for any dating when Kitty's case remained unresolved. And neither would Quinn.

"Thanks for sending me back," Quinn smiled, handing Santana's phone back to her.

And because Santana saw traces of sorrow and loneliness hiding underneath that smile, she leaned in and brushed her lips against Quinn's. What she could give, she gave – comfort, gentleness, support.

"Sleep well Quinn."

She touched her hand briefly to Quinn's cheek, stroked it then turned to go.

"Good night detective."

In the moonlight, she saw Santana raise her hand in an absent goodbye. And despite the circumstances, felt a pleasant hum in her gut.

Life took and gave; and while Kitty had been taken from her, it seemed Santana had just been given. It seemed morbid and unfair to think of it as such. Kitty had been so young after all. But that was how the circle of life worked. That was the balance. Understanding and accepting that was the only way she knew how to move on.

* * *

**Nothing too exciting here I'm afraid, at least in terms of action and keeping New York a safer place but it was necessary. So far so good?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for all the reviews, favourites and follows. They never fail to make me happy.**

* * *

"You ready?" Santana asked, inhaling the last dregs of their shared cigarette.

She didn't smoke much (which explained the shared cigarette). Rather, it was something she did out of habit; a ritual that she and Puck were a part of whenever they were closed to finishing a case.

She didn't remember when or how it had started but as far as she was concerned, that didn't matter and she wasn't keen on ending what had now become their thing.

Stubbing the cigarette out with the sole of her shoe, she tossed the stick to the ground and pushed herself off of her car.

"Why do I think this is going to be depressing?"

Santana spared her partner a look, straightening out her shirt as she entered the hospital. "Our job_ is_ depressing. We deal with corpses. You can't find anything more depressing than that."

"I'm sure Jacob would have something to say about that." Puck shot back, earning him a laugh.

Jacob Jacoby was their resident medical examiner. In Santana's opinion, there could be no one alive in this world who had a more fitting look for the job. Tall and skeletal, Jacoby bore semblance to the grim reaper. How his thin, sunken face could hold up all his features had always been a mystery to everyone in the department.

"I'm sure he will. Oh thank God, the parents aren't here." Santana noted with relief when they stepped out of the elevator. She didn't think she could handle any more dramatics right now. "Come on, let's get this done and over with."

Nodding to the officers on duty, she pushed open the door of the ward to see Bree looking absolutely miserable on the hospital bed. Her wrists were bandaged and handcuffed to the railings, and her eyes were swollen and puffy on a pale face.

"Glad to see you're alive." Santana commented as her way of greeting.

All she got in response was a sniffle and a face filled with fear.

Always the soft-hearted one, Puck shot her a warning glare that had Santana rolling her eyes. She wasn't here to molly coddle suspects. She was here to do her job, to reveal truths and seek justice. If Bree thought Santana would be going easy on her just because she was in the hospital, she would have to think again.

As if he had heard her thoughts, Puck mouthed "be nice" to her when Bree was busy wiping her tears.

And that was why he should always play the good cop, Santana thought with another eye roll. He was a natural at it. She made a mental note of the incident should she need to use it against her partner when he complained again. That much was inevitable.

"Hi Bree. I hope you're feeling better today."

And there he went proving her right again. Seriously.

"Have you been read your rights?" she cut in before Puck could make any more small talk.

"N..No."

She retrieved a recorder from her bag, turned it on and set it on the hospital table.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?"

Bree whimpered then nodded.

"With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?"

"Wh.. where are my parents?"

"Don't know. Don't care. You're twenty-one aren't you?"

Tears welled up in Bree's eyes and she turned her head to wipe them on her shoulder.

Shooting Santana a nasty look, Puck hurried to Bree's side with a piece of tissue paper in hand, "Bree, I'm going to uncuff one of your hands so you'll be more comfortable. Okay? Would you like that?"

She nodded (of course she would) and gratefully accepted the tissue once she had her hand free.

"Now Bree," Puck said as gently as he could, "We're just going to ask you a few simple questions. All you have to do is answer them. Can you do that?"

Bree nodded again, still wiping at her eyes.

"Okay. There's nothing to worry about all right? If you want us to help you, you have to tell us the truth."

"I didn't mean it. I really didn't!" She cried out, agitated.

"What didn't you mean to do?" Puck asked patiently.

"It was an accident! I was just so angry. She was supposed to be my best friend and she stole him from me."

"Bree, Bree. Look at me. Why were you angry with Kitty?"

"Because she stole Jake! She knew I liked him and she still went behind my back to do him!"

"So you pushed your best friend because she slept with a boy you liked?" Santana asked, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Yes. We went up to the roof."

Playing devil's advocate, Santana pushed.

"So you arranged to meet on the roof, all on the pretext of talking and then you shoved her off. Then, you went down, stuffed the suicide note you had prepared beforehand in Kitty's pocket, cleared her phone history and left. Kill the competition, get the guy. Was that how you planned it, huh?"

"No no no no no!" Bree shook her head profusely, scattering tears everywhere. "The roof is our special place."

Santana made a sound of disbelief. "So you decided to kill her at your special place?"

"No! It wasn't like that."

"Then tell us how it happened." Puck coaxed. "We want to understand. We want to help. Accidents happen to the best of us."

Bree snuffled, drew in a shaky breath and swiped her running nose with the crumpled piece of tissue in her hand. "The roof is where we go to whenever we have secrets to share."

Puck made a humming sound to show he was listening.

"And.. and I wanted to tell Kitty it was over between us. It made sense to do it there. Because it was our special place." She looked to Santana, as if seeking her approval.

"Go on."

"And and things got heated up and she said some stuff that really got me mad. And I didn't realise we were so closed to the edge and when I shoved, she.. she disappeared."

Yeah sure. She disappeared over the ledge and did a swan dive headfirst onto the concrete below, Santana thought dryly.

"What about the note?"

"I.. I got scared." Bree admitted, looking down as she rubbed her fingers together. "We do each other's homework all the time so I know how to write like Kitty."

"Quick thinking for someone who was scared." Santana pointed out.

"It wasn't difficult to come up with it, not after I had peered over the ledge." She shuddered, her mind going back to that day. "She looked like she had jumped off."

The tears came again. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean it and I'm sorry!"

But whether or not it had been intentional, it didn't matter. That one supposedly harmless shove had been enough to end Kitty's short twenty-one years of life. Bree was going to be sorry for a long time to come.

Santana sighed and shook her head at the loss. Such a waste of two young lives, she thought, and for what? For a boy who probably wasn't even worth it.

One had died in the petty tussle and the other would have to face the music in a prison cell for a long time.

But there was nothing that could change the past.

And all that she could do was write up the report and turn everything in to the lieutenant. Bree's future was up to the DA now and for Bree's sake, Santana wished her the best of luck. She was going to need it.

"Recording over."

* * *

Even as Quinn walked into the building serving as the Headquarters of the NYPD, she wondered if it was a good idea.

Her mother had called, had told her between sniffles and tears that the police had closed the case in the morning, that it had been Bree who had done it. But how could she believe that?

Bree was Kitty's sister in all but blood. They had survived together under Sue Sylvester's crazy cheerleading trainings, graduated from high school together, even left from Lima to New York together just so they could be in the same city. The idea that Bree had hurt – no, not hurt, that was too mild a word – had killed Kitty was just insane.

She had to ask. She had to know for sure that it wasn't a mistake, some sort of cruel joke that was being played on her family. So she had called Santana, and had been directed to voicemail the both times she had tried.

So here she was now, wanting to hear from the horse's mouth. And she couldn't help but feel a little nervous about seeing the detective again.

Unconsciously, she brushed her lips with her fingers.

Suddenly, a horrendous thought struck her. The reason why her call had been sent to voicemail was because Santana was busy? Right? It wasn't because Santana was actively avoiding her? After all, she had been working hard to solve Kitty's murder case. Right?

Slightly disturbed now, she considered backing out but was stopped when a kind officer approached her.

"Hello Ma'am can I help you?"

Rearranging her features, Quinn tipped him a winning smile, unaware that she had just made his heart skip. "I was told this was the homicide department?"

He flushed, scratched his nose, "That's us. You're in the right place Ma'am. Is there something I can do for you?"

"I'm looking for Detective Lopez?"

"Oh Santana's not in." When one of his colleagues rushed in and just very nearly missed bowling her down, he took her by the arm and led her to the side. "She left about an hour ago."

She was preoccupied and distressed enough to have missed the close collision. "How about Detective Puckerman?"

"Same thing I'm afraid. They've just finished up a case so they're probably going to be hitting the gym. Can I leave a message?" He asked hopefully.

It was very seldom that eye candy walked into the bullpen. And this blondie was as pretty as a picture.

"No. No thanks." She turned away, took two steps and swept back, "Could you please tell me where I may find the gym?"

Polite to a fault too.

"Basement 1, to your left. Would you like me to bring you there?"

"That's all right. I wouldn't want to take up more of your time. Thanks again for your help officer."

And with that, she was hurrying out of the office before he could offer to get Lopez for her.

Damn, why were Lopez's girls always so fine, he wondered as he watched her stride down the corridor and away from him.

"Think she may be another crazy bitch?" his partner, who had been watching the interaction from his desk, asked.

He clucked once at the memory and laughed, "Nah. I like this one. She was asking for Puckerman too. Doubt it's personal. "

"Yeah?" His partner nodded as he dove right back into his files. "For everyone's sake, I hope you're right."

* * *

It took Quinn a while to get her bearings right. The corridor was busy, busy, busy.

There were people everywhere – police ushering in new suspects/convicts or leaving for dispatch. Phones were ringing, people were shouting. Even the maintenance man was part of the system - shaking his wet mop at a poor visitor who had upended his pail, spraying soapy water everywhere.

She made sure to avoid the chaos as much as she could, and after a couple of wrong turns, managed to find the elevator. There, she had to squeeze in with twelve other folks from all walks of life.

By the time she reached her floor, she was more than happy to leave the stifling claustrophobia of having bodies pressed against her from all sides.

Now, all she had to do was find the gym, she thought with relief as her heels clicked down the hallway.

It was a lot quieter down here though there was an unfortunate smell of sweat and damp in the air. Inevitable, she decided, if there were hundreds of men walking in and out to pump weights.

She heard before she saw – the huffing and puffing, the masculine grunts of exertion, the metallic clanks as weights were lifted and replaced, the hum of chatter and laughter as men who risked their lives for each other and the city joked as they worked out. With some amazement, she realised this was another place where they bonded. Sweat together, friends forever or some manly code like that.

She stopped just outside of the gym. And felt utterly out of place.

"Hey there Missy, got a pass? I've never seen you before?"

The burly officer at the check-in counter asked, eyeing her business wear with a suspicious eye.

"Ah no." She stood on her tiptoes, craning her neck in an attempt to look past the towering officer.

The door to the gym was opened but she doubted she could dart past the guard dog hovering over her. Even if she could, she wouldn't want to enter such a testosterone-dominant place. Not in her current attire at least.

From what she could see, the gym was gigantic. In terms of the equipment provided, it wasn't very much different from the one she frequented. There were rows and rows of treadmills, weight benches, smith machines, power cages and the like. Racks of free weights and several punch bags were lined up at the side. And directly in her eye line, smacked right in the middle of the gym was a boxing ring.

A boxing ring that was being occupied none other by the two detectives she had been looking for.

Rather distractedly, she offered up her answer. "I'm not from here. I'm actually looking for someone."

To her surprise, she found it was rather difficult to focus on a conversation when you're ogling someone. She had always prided herself on being a brilliant multitasker.

"Got a name?"

"Yes. Detective Santana Lopez? I see her right there actually." She pointed at one of the two tight bodies in the ring.

Said detective was stripped down to a black sports bra and shorts, her long, dark hair pulled up in a tight ponytail. If the gleam on their bodies was anything to go by, Quinn figured they must have been at it for some time.

"Oh Lopez," the guard flashed a grin at the familiar name, "Yeah, she and Puck are duking it out. My bet's on my boy," he chuckled then winced when Santana feigned to the right and slammed her boxing glove into her partner's ribs, "Or maybe not. Want me to call her out?"

"Maybe." Quinn answered ambiguously, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She had never watched a sparring session before and she had to admit she was curious. "Maybe we could give them a few minutes?"

"Sure." The guard agreed easily, more than happy to oblige. "Since you're here, want to take me up on the bet? Ten bucks says Puckerman will win this one?"

Quinn's brows lifted as she let out a surprised laugh, then dug in her handbag for her wallet. "I don't see why not."

"You're on, girlie." He slapped a bill down on the counter and turned to watch the show. "You'll enjoy this. A match with Puckerman and Lopez is always fun to watch. This is going to be a close one. You on first name basis with Lopez?"

The random question threw her off guard but she managed to keep her eyes on the ring. "Kind of."

They stayed low, circling each other with their arms raised in a defensive stance.

"You her new girl?"

Now, that caught her attention.

She frowned, looked away for a second and missed the first punch being thrown. "Does she have a lot of girls?"

The guard shrugged, grinned sheepishly at her. "No idea. But the one she had, we all knew about."

Before Quinn could ask for more information, the guard had tuned back into the match, "Oh damn! Come on! Foul!" He shouted when Santana landed an elbow jab to Puck's solar plexus.

He doubled over, clutching his sore gut, "That was bullshit! No elbows in a boxing match Lopez"

There were a few cheerful boos, mixed with encouraging "Geddit Lopez!" that had Santana raising her arms in apology with a playful grin.

Then they were back at it again.

Puck was obviously the stronger of the duo, his muscles rippling as he struck out with his fists, dodged. His punches were powerful and solid but in terms of speed, he had nothing on Santana.

She was fast as a viper, ducking and weaving in between punches, her limbs sleek and slender as she danced in, danced out, careful to avoid being boxed into a corner.

There was a united intake of breath when Santana barely managed to avoid what looked like a powerful uppercut. But lucky for her still-bruised face, she managed to dart out of the way before the hit could land.

Recovering quickly, she swivelled to block the side hook that Puck followed up with, and surprised everyone when she countered by hooking her foot behind his ankle and taking both of them down.

Puck took the brunt of the fall, and when they landed, heckles and laughter rang out.

"And your ten bucks is mine!" The guard announced happily, swiping Quinn's crisp bill off the counter, just as she let out a little whoop.

"Hey! But I was betting on Santana!" Quinn frowned in confusion.

"And that's why I'm taking this." He grinned and pointed at a self-appointed referee who had just entered the ring.

"Lopez! Out!" He announced to the spectators, who burst into applause.

Santana laughed as Puck shoved at her, trying to get her torso off his. "How many times have I told you, Lopez? You can't do that! That's cheating." Quinn heard him complain loudly as he tugged off his gloves and threw them at Santana.

She laughed again, perfect white teeth on display as she threw back her head, revealing a long, slender neck slick with sweat. "You're just jealous that I won."

"Which you wouldn't have, had you played by the rules." Puck argued.

"Tell that when you get beat by a ruffian because be cheated."

At her unapologetic scoff, he grabbed her in a headlock and had her cursing and wriggling under his arm.

"Get off me, you moron! Urgh Puck! You're all wet and gross."

"That's what you get for cheating!"

"There ain't no rules on the streets!"

"I'm not letting go till you admit that you've lost!" Puck smirked smugly as he tightened his hold.

"Screw you. Let go!" She lashed out but was unable to break out from his grip.

"Isn't anyone going to break them up?" Quinn wondered aloud, concerned by Santana's reddening face.

The guard laughed as he turned back to her, "Don't worry about it. They rough it out all the time. But if you want, I can make sure Puck doesn't strangle her by accident."

"Yes please. I need her alive." Quinn said with some unease.

"Your wish is my command." He winked, took in a deep breath and let out a deafening holler. "OI LOPEZ! STOP HORSING AROUND AND GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE! SOME HOT CHICK IS LOOKING FOR YOU!"

Her eyes widened, and she blushed when she felt more than a dozen eyes swivel to eye her with curiosity. That was not what she had been expecting.

Santana took opportunity of Puck's momentary distraction to kick out with the instep of her foot. He yelped and released his hold immediately. When he bent over in pain, she stomped down on his toes for good measure.

"That should teach you." She tossed back as she walked away, ducking under the ropes so that she could hop off the ring. On the way over, she grabbed her towel and water bottle off the platform.

"What's up Lu – Oh hey Quinn. What are you doing here?"

Pleasant surprise surged through her when she saw Quinn standing by the counter, looking all prim and proper in her suit. Unable to resist, Santana leaned over to thumb the material of the jacket Quinn had on.

"Why aren't you sweating in this?" She demanded, wiping her brow with her towel.

If only she knew exactly how hot Quinn was feeling in her suit. But the blonde suspected her heating up had nothing to do with the clothes she was wearing and everything to do with the cop in front of her.

Even as she thought it, she saw a bead of sweat trail down the line of Santana's tanned stomach and dip into her belly button. With a flash of arousal and surprise, she recognised the faint discolouration above Santana's navel to be a scar from an old piercing.

The image conjured up in her mind was interesting. And also, very very sexy.

Uncomfortable with where her thoughts were heading, Quinn hooked a finger over the collar of her shirt and pulled, twisting her neck to the side as she did so.

"I'm used to it but now that you mentioned it, it is getting a little hot in here."

Completely oblivious to the double meaning, Santana suggested they move over to the locker room, where it was better ventilated.

"I wish you'd called. I'm kind of sweaty right now." Santana grimaced as she wiped herself down.

She must look a mess. Even without a mirror, she knew her hair was plastered to her forehead, her neck. Oh God, she hoped her face wasn't blotchy. Immediately, she brought her towel up to wipe at her T-zone furiously. She didn't want to look oily. That would be awful. And oh shit, did she smell? Was she stinky?

She sniffed the air subtlety and managed to relax slightly when she detected no foul odour. Still, the locker room wasn't the best place to test her nasal prowess.

"Sorry, we should probably talk in the office but I'm not exactly dressed for that and I don't want to keep you waiting any mo –"

"Santana relax. We can talk here. It's fine. It's my fault anyway. I should have let you know in advance. I called but.." she trailed off and lifted her shoulders up in a casual shrug.

"Oh yeah. Sorry about that," Santana said again, "I usually keep my phone in the locker when I come down here. So what can I do for you? Is it about Kitty?"

Quinn sighed and nodded.

"I take it you've heard about Bree?"

Again, she nodded. "Yeah, I heard it from my mum. She.. Are you sure you haven't made a mistake? I mean Bree's practically family. She's like Kitty's sister."

She couldn't help getting a little agitated. After all, she had met the girl. She had liked the girl. She had seen Bree and her cousin cheer together, train together. To find out that Bree had been the one who had done the deed was simply staggering. And heartbreaking.

Understanding where she was coming from, Santana placed a comforting hand on Quinn's shoulder. "I'm sorry Quinn. But yeah, there's no mistake. We've got Bree's confession on record. She was the one, even if it had been an accident."

"I just.." Quinn paused, rubbed her temple. "Do you know what her sentence would be like?"

The question threw her off kilter because here, she recognised compassion.

And it baffled her.

Bree was her cousin's murderer. Accident or not, she had been the one to cut off Kitty's life strings and had it been her in Quinn's place, she wasn't sure she would be able to find the same compassion inside of her.

"I'm not sure." She admitted honestly. "It's going to be up to the judge. The prosecutor would want her for second-degree manslaughter. That's going to be anywhere from three to fifteen years. I'll say five to seven is a good gauge if she behaves well. But if she gets lucky, they might be able to bump her down to involuntary manslaughter. Shave off another couple of years."

She watched as Quinn deflated then as quickly as her shoulders had slumped, she straightened them out again. Santana could practically see the cogs in her brain turning, her mind scanning for possible contacts she could offer to Bree's parents.

Wanting to understand, needing to learn forgiveness, Santana asked, "Why aren't you mad?"

Quinn let out a short, tired laugh. "I am mad but I'm a lot sadder than I am mad."

"You intend to help her." Santana stated more than asked. When Quinn didn't deny it, she added, "Why?"

Letting out a deep breath, Quinn raised her hands only to let them fall.

"It's all I can do."

"I don't understand."

"Kitty is gone," she managed to say, "But Bree is still here. One life has already been lost. Don't you think it would be a waste if another goes down the drain? Besides, like you said, it was an accident. I can't imagine Bree must be feeling good about it."

"She wasn't." Santana confirmed.

And again, that small sad smile.

"Then there you have it."

Still somewhat mystified, Santana shook her head and took a long drag from her bottle.

"I don't get how you do that so easily."

"Do what?"

"Forgive." Santana stated plainly, tilting her head to the side as if studying a new specimen.

Slightly embarrassed from the scrutiny, Quinn fidgeted and shrugged, "It's the only way you'll be able to live right."

There was a long pause as Santana continued to stare at Quinn. Finally, she looked away and took another drag from her bottle.

"Yeah, it is." She said and decided with a twinge of regret that Quinn Fabray was too good for her.

* * *

**I know how everyone wants more Quintana interaction but please bear with me a little longer. The Quintana goodness will come, just not now because it's not the right time. After all, Quinn is still grieving and Santana.. well Santana, has her own issues to deal with.**

**Case 1 closed. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry this took a little longer than usual. I received a few odd jobs that took up some time. **

**Just to let you guys know, I'll be traveling to the US for a month so I doubt I'll have time to update when I'm there. I'll update when I'm back in the last week of September or when I can :)**

**Last of all, thanks for the follows, favourites and reviews! **

* * *

It had been a couple of days since she had seen or contacted Quinn.

The businesswoman herself had sent a couple of texts, dropped a couple of calls, all of which (and she did feel bad about it) she had left unanswered.

Because what could she say? Hey Quinn, I really like you and while I would like to keep that dinner date, it's probably not a good idea anymore. And then Quinn would ask why, and she would either have to lie by saying she wasn't interested anymore (completely untrue) or tell her the truth and admit that she was messed up.

Quinn was a kind, compassionate woman who probably deserved someone who could give her the same, and Santana wasn't sure she was that person. At least not anymore.

For the better part of the past three years, she had lived a life of guilt, of frivolity when it came to relationships. It wasn't that she was careless with the women she chose to sleep with (a girl had her needs, didn't she?). Rather, when she did do the wango tango, it was with no strings attached, no emotions invested. That way, it was safe for both parties involved.

After what had happened with Darcy, she had dug all her energy into her work; did everything and anything that would help her forget.

Over time, it got better as people said it would. The nightmares started spanning out. She didn't feel a perpetual need for a cigarette or a bottle of poison in her hand. The headaches eased up. Her social life improved.

But Kitty's case had awoken some things in her that she didn't care to bring out of the crevices of her mind. She had struggled so hard to bury them deep and they were all but spilling out now.

And the short conversation she had had with Quinn in the gym did nothing to quell her fears and the memories that stirred up inside of her.

If she had just picked up the bloody phone then, maybe Darcy would have still been alive. If she had just managed to find it in her to forgive as Quinn had done, then maybe…

Oh heck it, she growled out in frustration as she flicked off her lights and crawled under the covers of her bed. She was wasting time thinking about things she couldn't change. The psychologist had pointed that out as one of her problems.

_You think too much Santana. You wallow too much in the what ifs, and in the past. You cannot say what if you had done B or C or D instead of A because if you did that, you'll always be looking behind you. Our eyeballs are in the front for a reason. It's to remind us to keep looking forward, not back. Your ears face the front too, so you can hear promises for the future, not haunted whispers of what you did wrong and in this case, you did nothing wrong. Your reaction was understandable, natural even. _

So reminding herself of that, taking comfort in the words of her psychologist, she closed her eyes, and wished for a few hours of oblivion. After all, it was in sleep that you could escape your thoughts. Right?

Wrong.

* * *

_Goddammit. She was angry. No, scratch that. She was past angry, past pissed off; she was boiling mad. But beneath the waves of temper and rage, hurt bubbled up in foamy froths. Because as much as she could try to deny it, she knew the truth of the matter - she was fucking hurt. She was fucking devastated. She wanted to beat something up, preferably herself just so she would stop hurting on the inside because surely, any other pain would be better than this stabbing agony that kept twisting, twisting in her heart._

_Five years she had been with Darcy; the hot, flirtatious, seductive siren, who had been her roommate. They had hit it off, had gone from roommates to lovers in a finger snap, and had surprised everyone by lasting through and beyond college. _

_When they graduated, Darcy found a stable job with a credible company and Santana joined the NYPD. When she proposed, Darcy said yes and they had mind blowing, "just got engaged" sex. Everything was as perfect as could be for the both of them, until the day she stumbled in on her fiancé doing the spread eagle with some girl from her office. To add insult to injury, Darcy had turned the tables on her, blaming her for her own infidelity._

_"You're never around! You're always away and I'm lonely!"_

_And fuck it but that had made her feel bad because it was true. She had been working late a lot and even when she was home, she was usually studying for her detective exam. But she was doing it all for them, wasn't she? So she could make more, so they could live in a bigger, better house, so they could have a good life? She came from money, yes, but she had enough self-respect and was brought up well enough that she found no need to ask her parents for what she herself could earn. And whenever she could, she tried to keep their relationship going, didn't she? She bought flowers, she initiated date nights, she even rejected Mercedes' and Brittany's many invitations to hang out because she knew Darcy didn't much like it when she spent time with them over her. _

_Still, her guilt only really ebbed when she found out what her fiancé had been saying to their families, to their mutual friends, that it was her fault their relationship had deteriorated, hers that led to her wayfaring clit. And now that she thought about it, really thought about it, what the fuck did Darcy do for their relationship? It was always her trying and Darcy whining, wasn't it? So how dare Darcy now try to blame everything on her._

_So she ended it, ended what they had shared for the last five years. _

_She chose a day where she knew Darcy would be at work, got Mercedes and Brittany to help her pack up and leave, and through sheer luck, noticed her grandmother's ring (the same ring she had used to propose) winking up at her in a half-opened drawer. She took that of course because there was no way in hell she was leaving her grandmother's heirloom to someone who didn't even have the decency to respect her and their past. _

_And after finding out what she had done, the crazy bitch came storming into her workplace accusing her of theft, demanding that she return the ring. The nerve of her. The absolute nerve of her. She remembered being mortified, embarrassed, furious, and once again above all, hurt. Because despite everything, despite the cheating, despite Darcy bringing their personal realm to where it had no business being, despite the utter disrespect and consideration, she still loved her. But that dramatic showdown at her office showed her exactly what their five-year relationship had meant to her ex. Absolutely nothing. _

_So when Darcy called her the very next night, she let the call go to voicemail. As she did the second. And the third. And by the time she was staring down at her ex-fiancé's body on the moonlit sidewalk, it was too late._

* * *

Santana woke, dragging herself out of the blood and dark, only to find herself still in the shadows.

Jesus, shit. She swept a hand across her clammy forehead and fumbled for her night light, waiting for her thumping heart to level again.

Darcy had been dead for over three years now. A victim of a mugging gone wrong.

The three missed calls had been close to the time of death. But Darcy had left no voicemails behind.

Still, Santana wondered. If she had picked up the phone, if she had just put aside her anger and hurt for that second, would Darcy still be alive?

She shoved at her hair and took a look at the digital clock on her bed stand. 4.33am. She let out a bitter laugh. It was at times like this that she knew God (if there was one) had a sense of humour.

4.33am.

_Dispatch. Detective Lopez to dispatch to Brooklyn Heights. _

It had been 4.33am then. It was 4.33am now.

For a moment, she considered going back to sleep, but she knew if she closed her eyes again, she would be right back on the sidewalk, right back looking down at the body of Darcy.

So with a loud groan, she rolled off her bed and tugged on some sweats. Since she was already up, she might as well get a good, long run in before work. Nothing like a nice run to clear her mind and relax her body.

After washing up, she quietly stepped out of the apartment, making sure to lock the door behind her. Brittany was still asleep and with the opening night of her Broadway showjust around the corner, her housemate was going to need all the sleep she could get.

She started slowly, giving herself a chance to warm up. Then pushed it. If she was to get rid of all her negative thoughts, if she was to forget, she needed a hard, punishing run.

The roads were still empty, as were the buses that chugged by occasionally. Though it was summer, the early morning meant that the air was still cool. Perfect weather for a run in her opinion.

Three miles and fifteen minutes later, drenched with sweat, her lungs burning, she slowed down to a comfortable jog and only stopped when she felt in control again.

She walked off the run, did some stretches to cool down and decided that since the sun was about to rise, she would just wait for the view. After all, it wasn't everyday that she was up before dawn. She should also probably snap a picture of the rising sun and send it to her parents.

It had been some time since she had contacted them. With some fondness, she recalled how they liked to give her grief about her waking habits whenever she returned home. A photo of New York City waking up was just what she needed to get them off her back the next time. Why hadn't she thought of that before?

Happy with the plan, she decided to proceed to the nearby 24-hour coffee shop to do exactly that. Might as well get a decent cup of coffee and some grub in her system while she was waiting. Enjoy more of that quiet and solitude before the city and her world started getting busy again.

So imagine her surprise when she stepped into the shop and saw someone crazy enough to be there even before her.

"Santana?"

The shop's other sole customer turned around and she received a bigger surprise still.

Of course, she would bump into the person she had just been thinking of. Such was life. But why was it that every time she met Quinn, she was always sweaty and looking her worst?

She sighed and with some awkwardness, walked over to the table Quinn was sitting at, noting with pleasure that Quinn was for once out of her business wear and dressed in what looked like a comfortable ensemble of a cardigan, a simple tank top, and pink pyjamas pants dotted with dancing penguins. Cute. Very cute.

"Hey. What are you doing here?"

"Couldn't sleep," Quinn admitted with a tired smile as she signalled the waiter over. "You?"

"Same."

Seeing that she had no other choice without appearing rude, she slid into the booth and decided on pancakes with coffee.

"So you decided to go for a midnight run?" Quinn observed with some amusement as she eyed Santana's sportswear and post-exercise appearance, "Isn't that what you advocate us _not _to do, detective?"

"It's a good thing it's not midnight then," Santana tapped the face of her wristwatch with some smugness, "It's morning."

"It's still dark." Quinn pointed out, "In my book, midnight starts from the time you sleep all the way till the sun comes up."

Santana snorted out a laugh, "That's one liberal use of the word. A little excessive, don't you think?"

Quinn lifted her arms up in a "so what" gesture, let it fall. "I'm a liberal woman and also straightforward enough. And since I am, I'll like to ask why you haven't been returning any of my calls or texts? It's rude."

The statement was made so matter-of-factly Santana simply stared.

"What? I thought we were supposed to have a dinner date. And since you asked for my number and kissed me first, I ruled out the possibility that you weren't interested."

That made her laugh, even though she supposed that was rude too.

"And before you say you were busy, that's a lame excuse. So let's have it." Quinn demanded, her eyebrows lifted as she waited for a response.

Santana actually had to blink a few times before she found her words. Was Quinn that… bossy? But now that she thought about it, the incident with the door and the ice, and the fact that Quinn was an actual boss, yeah she was.

Her first instinct was to lie but since Quinn had already called her out on the "I'm busy" line and she couldn't think up a more convincing excuse, she decided an apology was the next best thing to do.

So she did exactly that.

"I'm sorry," she said somewhat half-heartedly.

And in a way, she really was sorry. She liked Quinn well enough and boy could that girl kiss, but she really didn't think she could handle anything heavy right now. And with Quinn, heavy and full on was the only way she wanted it.

"I'm not asking for an apology. You don't have to apologize," Quinn said, taking a sip of her coffee, "I'm just asking why. I mean we're both adults and if you want me to back off, I'll back off. Just say the word."

Quinn didn't sound angry or upset like most women would. Instead, she sounded merely curious and that in turn, intrigued Santana.

"I... I didn't think you should date someone like me," she said at length.

And holy shit. Did she just say that out loud? Judging from Quinn's astonished face, she guessed she did. What was wrong with her?

"I was thinking about what you had said that night actually. You were right."

Whether or not it was to lighten the mood or to rid her of the nerves she was feeling, she didn't know but the light kick and the toothy grin that Quinn sent her way helped.

"I love it when that happens," Quinn took another swallow of her coffee, flashed another easy smile, "But what was I right about? We did talk about a few things."

Santana thanked the waiter when he returned with a plate of delightful pancakes and a steaming mug of coffee. She offered some to Quinn, who declined.

"About forgiveness? How you need to do that so you can live right."

"Oh that," Quinn smiled and leaned back in her chair, "It's not the easiest thing to do."

"But what happens if it's too late?"

"It's never too late." Quinn replied, watching intently as Santana doused her breakfast with maple syrup. That was _a lot_ of syrup. Because she was distracted, it took a few seconds to hit her, "Oh.. Unless you mean.."

She left her meaning unsaid but Santana understood anyway.

"Yeah."

With fascination, she watched as Santana popped the syrup-laden slice of pancake in her mouth and wondered if she would be better off eating honeycombs instead. They were of the same colour and if they went by sweetness, Santana probably wouldn't notice a difference.

"Well then, the only thing left would be to forgive yourself, wouldn't it? And more often than not, that's going to be harder than letting bygones be bygones. From my experience at least." She said and continued watching with some level of disgust and awe when Santana spread a thick layer of butter over her second pancake and poured a gallon of syrup over it.

She deduced the only reason why the syrup hadn't flowed over and out of the plate was because Santana made sure to mop it all up with her pancake.

"I don't get it," she finally blurted out, "Exactly how much and how often do you work out?"

"What?"

"How much do you burn on a typical day?" Quinn waved a finger at the bottle of maple and the empty dish of butter, "No one is able to eat all that and still look like you without having regular, brutal workouts."

"Which explains the morning run, midnight run, whatever you want to call it," Santana wagged her fork in Quinn's direction, "Are you sure you don't want any of this? You keep eyeing my food."

"No. I keep eyeing what you put on your food because the amount is disturbing. So back to what I was saying. What was I saying?"

She usually wasn't the type to distract easily but she supposed there would come a time when her sleepless nights would catch up to her. This had to be it.

"That forgiving yourself is harder. Why do you say that?"

"Right. Because you're always hardest on yourself. There's like this voice that keeps reciting the same old riot act in your head and no matter how you try to shut it down, it just doesn't stop."

And yes, Santana thought with some amazement, that was exactly how she often felt.

"But that's not always true." She felt a need to qualify, pushing away her empty plate and wiped her mouth with a napkin.

"Of course it isn't but from what I can tell, it's true for you. Listen Santana," Quinn said seriously, leaning forward to look the detective in the eye, "I don't know what you're beating yourself up over but you need to hear this. Forgiveness isn't about condoning. It isn't about lack of accountability or forgetting the mistake. Everyone makes mistakes."

"Yeah but some mistakes can lead to more severe consequences."

"Again true but often, the consequences aren't intended."

"But it doesn't make it right."

"No it doesn't," Quinn agreed with a shake of her head, taking Santana hand in hers. The woman looked so miserable, so upset, and all she wanted to do was soothe, "But it doesn't make it any more wrong. We're not perfect, we all do things that hurt others but that's when you need to stop at some point and say okay, I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry for it but now I move on so it doesn't affect the way I live the rest of my life."

"You sound like my therapist." Santana said with a laugh then stopped abruptly when she realised what she had just blurted out.

Now, Quinn was going to think she was some crazy, depressed person who needed a shrink to lead her life. But she needn't have worried because instead of relinquishing her hold, Quinn tightened it, adding a reassuring squeeze for good measure, "That's nothing to be ashamed of. I had a therapist too."

That, Santana found difficult to imagine. Here was a woman who seemed so self-aware, so put together but so was she, she supposed, on the outside, when her walls were high and secure as they usually were. When she was with Quinn, it seemed they came tumbling down. She wasn't sure how she felt about it just yet.

"Why?

Quinn shrugged and gave her an unabashed smile, "I was too keen on perfection and when I couldn't be, I just cracked. But I like to think I've put that behind me. I'm happy where I am now. And you should be too. You do a lot to keep the people of New York safe."

_But she couldn't keep Darcy safe. _

"What? What did I say?" Quinn's grip tightened at the pained look that descended upon Santana's face, "Who hurt you Santana?"

"Darcy."

And what the hell was wrong with her today. It must be the lack of sleep, or maybe she was finally overworked, or perhaps the combination of both was what was taking its toll on her. Thinking that, she wondered if she could bully Puck into taking over some of her paperwork today. He owed her anyway.

"An ex? We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." Quinn made sure to add.

But because the dream was still fresh and weighing on her mind, she found that she did and so she unloaded. Quinn's hand remained on hers the entire time and through that contact, she found comfort and relished in it.

"I don't think it's going to help but I don't think any of it was your fault."

"So I've been told."

Quinn's eyes softened with sympathy and understanding. Pity might have made her tense but sympathy was a different matter.

"But you'll get through it. You'll see," Quinn said and gave Santana's hand an encouraging pat, "And anytime you need someone to talk to, I'll be happy to listen. No strings attached. I've been told I'm a good listener."

"You are."

"Thank you," Quinn beamed, "I've always wanted to be a psychologist. You'll come in handy." She joked.

"Now I'm worried." Santana played right along.

When Quinn laughed, shook her hair back, lifted her face, she felt a flutter in her belly. This woman was beautiful, inside and out. What had she been thinking before when she thought to let her go? Who was she to make that decision for the both of them? Quinn had stated her interest, hadn't she and she definitely knew she was attracted.

Her eyes flicked down from Quinn's to linger on her lips before coming back up. Drawn, she leaned toward her and was stopped by a finger to her nose.

If not for the mischievous twinkle in the blonde's eye, she would have been embarrassed down to her toes.

"I thought you said no strings attached?"

"That was for a listening ear."

"How about if I buy you dinner?"

"Now we're talking," Quinn grinned, feasting a hand over the front of her sweatshirt to yank her over in a surprisingly strong move. Just before their lips touched, Quinn pulled away and made her groan. "Wait. What if you back out or freak out again?"

"I won't," Santana promised, "Scout's honour."

"You were a scout?"

"Quinn," Santana warned with narrowed eyes.

The next moment, she felt Quinn's curved lips touch hers. Barely had they made contact when Quinn pulled away with an all too innocent smile that made Santana's mouth drop open in aggravated shock.

"Wait. That's it? The way you pulled at my shirt, I thought we were going to go for it."

"I decided I want an omelette first. Do you want to share it?"

When Santana only stared at her, she nodded to herself, "Bacon and cheese it is."

And oh what the hell, Santana thought with a half-laugh as she picked up a fork, she guessed she deserved as much.

* * *

**A/N: And with that, we've come to the end of the**** first half of the summary. **Just in case anyone is confused, words in italics refer to Santana's dream/flashbacks. Thanks for reading!


	6. Case 2: The Perfect Woman

**A/N: And we've reached Part II of the story. **

* * *

While the morning started off pleasantly enough (it was actually more than just pleasant), her spirits took a swan dive when she received a call to dispatch shortly after lunch.

"What do we have?" Santana asked in a clipped voice as she entered the hotel lobby with a uniform at her side.

The uniform hurried after her, giving his report as they walked, "The deceased is a pop singer, Marilyn Raven, 31, more commonly known as Mary-Rae. She was found by her personal trainer."

"The deceased is Mary-Rae?" she repeated in shock then swore profusely when they entered an empty lift.

Shit was going to hit the fan when the media got wind of it. Mary-Rae was no small fry in the music industry. In fact, she was one of the most famous singer-songwriters known internationally, consistently sweeping up awards at the Grammies and the VMA. To hear that she had been murdered was shocking.

Santana pressed the top floor and raked her fingers through her hair, "I'll need to speak to the trainer. Was the scene compromised?"

"No Detective. The PT just ran out of the room screaming his lungs out." Santana shot him a strange look at the pronoun. When she had heard the word "screaming", she had expected a female, but that was just her bias. "Thank goodness there weren't many hotel guests in their rooms. Since it was the afternoon, most of them were out touring and sightseeing."

Not that it mattered that much. Mary-Rae's penthouse covered the entire 52nd floor so unless there were nosy-parkers wanting a peek at her or at the world's most expensive hotel room, there would be no one to hear the PT's screams.

Or Mary-Rae's dying screams, if she had been conscious.

"Security was alerted shortly after. The head himself came up. He didn't touch the body. He followed protocol and called the cops immediately. Forensics are already in scanning the area for clues."

"Has TOD been established?"

The uniform checked the little notepad he had with him, "Yes Detective. It's estimated at 10.26am. That's about five hours ago."

Santana bit her lip, "Shit that's close."

The elevator doors opened and they exited.

"See if you can arrange a free room. We'll need to speak to both the trainer and the head of security."

He turned to go but she called him back, "Smith? We'll also need a log of all the guests who were in their rooms at the TOD. See if you can get that from the lobby. If they want a warrant for it, let me know."

And if they did, she would raise hell. Someone was murdered and she wanted to know why.

She nodded her thanks to the uniform before ducking under the police tape. When she straightened up, she let out an awed whistle. The room, if you could even call it that, was huge. From the entrance, she could see more than a few rooms leading away from the massive hall.

She spun on the spot, taking in the view. It was no wonder that this was New York's most exorbitant room. A four-foot chandelier? Seriously? It _was _beautiful but no way would she fork out over thirty grand a night for this luxury. She made a mental note to ask Mercedes if she had ever done such a foolish thing.

Sticking her hands into the pockets of her slacks, she started her search for her partner and found him in the master bedroom.

Puck was crouched down beside the deceased, his back facing her, examining the dead woman who used to be one of the most famous singers in America.

"Hey," Puck said without looking up, his eyes focused on what was before him.

Mary-Rae was sprawled on her back, surrounded by a pool of dried blood. Her eyes were opened, filmed over, and bulging out from a swollen face. More blood streaked down her right temple, where a vivid bruise had blossomed in the final moments of her life.

But what caught Santana's unerring attention was the gaping hole in Mary-Rae's neck.

Her vocal chords had been ripped out.

"So this is disgusting," she mentioned as casually as she could.

Puck grimaced, swiping at his damp forehead with the back of his hand, "Tell me about it. I just bought this pair of boots." He gestured at the blood on the floor.

"So what do you have so far?" Santana asked, pulling on a pair of latex gloves as she crouched down next to her partner.

"This wasn't a fast or painless death."

"Thanks very much Captain Obvious."

"I'd literally just stepped in when you arrived!"

"Fine. Well, let's see then," Santana shifted, being careful not to let any part of her clothes touch the ground, "Holy moley, the smell is… Does anyone have a mask?"

"Outside," Puck jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

As expected, she remained where she was.

"The media is going to be in a frenzy."

"Uh huh," Santana mumbled, noting the bloody and raw skin under Mary-Rae's fingernails, "She got him good. See if Forensics can get DNA from this," she pointed at the deceased's fingertips and indicated for Puck to make a note.

"Who says it's a him?" Puck asked, feeling a need to defend his gender.

"Seriously?"

"Why do people automatically assume that violent crimes are caused by males?"

"Don't be a dickhead."

"What! It's true!"

Santana rolled her eyes and starting pointing out the clues, "Bloodshot eyes. Face swelling. And I bet you if there's more of her neck left, there's going to be severe bruising and lacerations. Actually, you can see a little here," she waved at the lower jaw, "Strangulation. Can a female do that? Sure but she has to be damn strong to take down someone like Mary-Rae. She's what? 5'8''? How many women are taller than that?"

"Well yeah," Puck spluttered, arguing for the sake of arguing, "Shorties can be strong too? You're a good example of that."

Santana lifted an eyebrow wryly, "Why thank you for the compliment but look again."

She diverted his focus back to the deceased with a finger.

"Bruising on the cheek is at the temple, which means her assailant must have hit her from top down." She mimed swinging down an object in her hand, "He's probably at least half a head taller than her."

"If her assailant had been my height, she would have been better off hitting from the bottom, jaw up." Again, she followed through with the motion. "Still want to fight for your case?"

"Oh shut up," Puck sulked, scowling down at the corpse.

"And for your information, I'm NOT short. I'll have you kn –"

"Detectives," their heads snapped up to see a very pale, very green-looking uniform standing at the doorway.

"We found another body in one of the rooms. I think they used that room as the dressing room." The poor guy had one hand pressed to his stomach and another against his lips. Santana had to give him points for effort. "He has been stuffed into a suitcase. That's why we didn't find him before," the rookie swallowed, "They had to break all his bones to fit him in."

Puck and Santana glanced at each other before hurrying off to check on the second body, "You got the name of the second victim yet?"

The rookie nodded, widening his steps to keep up with his superiors, "Yes sir. He's Mary-Rae's artiste manager. Kevin Connelly. 51. We found his identity and name cards in his wallet."

"Christ," Puck exclaimed when he entered the room, "You stay outside Dan. You've done a good job. You don't have to see this again," he said kindly to the young rookie, "I want you to go scout the other rooms. Stay with the forensics team. If they need anything, come find us."

At the order, the uniform hurried away with immense relief.

"I think you've just become his new hero," Santana commented with a wry smile, "He may just stay on for another month."

Her smile faded and she blanched when she stepped into the room, "Oh shit. Why did we have to get this one? This is sick." She kicked out when she saw the body, her hand instinctively rising to cover her mouth. She felt like throwing up herself.

"And Mary-Rae's wasn't?" Puck turned to stare her incredulously.

"You know what I mean."

"Oh man, look at this mess. I hope they broke his bones only after he was dead," Puck said in pity, his fingers pinched over the bridge of his nose in disgust and horror.

"I think the word break is a bit of an understatement, don't you think? Let's go with crush."

"Not making it better."

"I'm just saying it as it is," Santana shrugged, "Still doubt it's a guy?"

"Never say never."

"Well, let me tell you this. No lady will be crazy enough to stuff a bloody heap of bones into an LV bag. "

Reluctantly, she inched forward to examine the body. Even from the distance, she could see jagged edges of the bones penetrating through the skin.

"Urgh. Maybe we should check the bathroom for signs of puke. How could he not have barfed after moving the body?"

"He's a psychopath that's what he is."

"Hah! You said he!" Santana pointed out with a gloat.

"It's a generic use of the word," Puck responded coolly.

"Whatever. We need forensics to cover this as well. Who's leading the team?" she asked, ready to offer the person her greatest sympathy.

She would not want to wish this even on her greatest enemy.

"Sebestian Smythe," Puck answered without missing a beat.

Oh this was good. This was very good, she thought and rubbed her hands in glee. On second thoughts, she _would_ wish this on her greatest enemy and guess who he was?

"Smythe? Really?" She grinned and did a little jig, "Ha!"

"You know Lopez, sometimes I worry about this mean streak that you have."

"Then you better make sure you stay on my good side."

She turned back to the body when a glint caught her eye, "Hey Puck. What's that?"

"What's what?"

"Look," she gestured, "He's holding something. Some sort of CD or something. In his right hand."

"Oh yeah I see it. Take it out, would you?" Puck said, leaning back after he had seen what Santana had wanted him to see.

He didn't want to see or touch more than he had to.

"No. You do it. I was the one who spotted it."

"Yeah you spotted it so I'm giving you the credit."

"Fuck you Puckerman. Don't be a wussy."

"How about rock, paper, scissors?"

"How about I stick my gun up your ass?"

Muttering nasty things under his breath, Puck reached over to pluck the CD case out of the deceased's stiff fingers. There was a bit of a struggle but he managed to pry it out eventually without disturbing the scene.

"Always getting me to do the nasty work."

"You're the one born with the balls, aren't you?" Santana smiled sweetly up at him, sealing the evidence bag after her partner had dumped the CD case into it, "Come on. Let's get out of here. Let Smythe clear this one. I want to talk to the one who found her. What's his name again?"

"Craig Mitchell."

They were allowed to conduct the interviews in one of the hotel's conference rooms.

When she entered, she saw Craig, pale, red-eyed, staring vacantly at a spot on the wall and nursing a cup of tea. He didn't even blink when she stepped in.

"Mr. Mitchell?"

He jolted up at his name and almost fell over his own feet trying to get up. Luckily for him, he managed to right the cup before it could spill any of its contents.

"Sorry to frighten you. I'm Detective Lopez with the NYPD. This is my partner, Detective Puckerman. We'd just like to ask you a few questions."

"Hi, hi, yes, yes. Mr. Sharp said to wait for you here."

His eyes were glazed over, his smile a little too wide. He was a huge man, broad-shouldered and packed with muscle. The thought that this very same man had ran out of the room screaming not an hour ago tickled her funny bone.

"I didn't touch her! I swear! It wasn't me!"

"That's right. You did the right thing Craig." Puck stepped in when Santana glanced over, indicating that he take over, "Now sit down, have some more tea. Do you want some more tea?"

"No. I've had enough tea," Craig replied, swiping at tears that had gathered in his eyes, "I don't understand. I was supposed to meet Mary-Rae at 2. We were going to work on her core."

"The core is always the hardest to train, isn't it?" Puck continued conversationally, "Have you worked with Mary-Rae before?"

"Several times," he sniffled, "I'm not her _personal, _personal trainer, if you know what I mean? I'm hired by the hotel. Whoever stays in the penthouse gets me. It's like a.. how do you say it?"

"A free service?" Santana supplied.

"Yes, a free service. Our guests pay a lot for the room so Mr. Sharp thinks it's only right the hotel gives freebies. He's a very clever man, Mr. Sharp is."

Santana glanced down at her notes, "Mr. Sharp is the founder of this hotel?"

"Yes," Craig nodded earnestly.

"Okay. So let's start from the beginning. Run me through it. You said you arrived at 2pm for a session with Mary-Rae?"

"I was a little early. I always like to be a little early. That way the guests can't complain. Some of the guests can be really rude. Rich brats you know. I've met a few."

"I'm sure you have."

"Do you need me to name the nasty ones? I can do that."

"That's okay, it's not necessary." Santana shot him down before Puck could agree to it. Sometimes, that guy was just too interested in gossip. If ever he decided to leave the force, she thought he could consider joining the paparazzi.

"Can you tell me how you found her?"

Craig's eyes filled again, his bottom lip started trembling, "I buzzed and no one answered. But I've worked with Mary-Rae before and she always says to let myself in. So I did, it's not breaking in if she gave me permission right?"

"Yes, don't worry about that. You didn't do anything wrong," Puck patted him assuredly on the hand, "So you went in and?"

"And I called out to her but she wasn't answering. And I thought that was weird because I had already done a session with her yesterday and she was totally psyched about today."

"So I laid out the mats first, prepared the weights and waited. But at 2.10, she still wasn't there so I thought I'll go look around you know? Maybe get myself a drink. And then, and then…" he trailed off, pressing his hands to his face.

"Do you need anything? Can we get you something?" Puck asked but Craig shook his head.

"I saw her lying there and there was so much blood. So much. And she wasn't answering me when I called out to her. And I really hate blood. It's not really my thing and I felt like vomiting so I just ran out."

They gave him a minute to compose himself while he rocked.

"Have you told anyone about this?"

"Yeah," he looked up with bloodshot, watery eyes, "Sterling. I told Sterling and he told Mr. Sharp and he got me to sit here and wait for you."

"Sterling is the head of security?" Puck asked to clarify.

"Yeah. Sometimes we work out together. Can I leave now? I just.. I don't want to be here anymore."

"Sure Craig. You go home and have a good rest okay? You did good."

After he left, they called Sterling Pattinson in. He was a big guy as well, and obviously better at holding himself together, if his calm demeanour was anything to go by. He looked solid as a rock.

"Hi Sterling. We're Detectives Lopez and Puckerman from the NYPD. We just need to ask you a few questions."

He shook their hands and sat down.

"You'll need to know if the scene was compromised. It wasn't," he said before they could ask anything, "Craig ran out, dialed security and I was informed. I had a look, managed to keep my lunch in and immediately called the cops."

It was just as the uniform had said it was.

"We'll need your security tapes."

"That wouldn't be a problem. But there's none on this level. One of the things Mary-Rae insisted on was privacy. She's an important guest so we accommodate whenever we can. Besides, we have no cameras on the inside. That's just against hotel policy."

"Understood," Santana nodded, "How about the lifts and the staircases?"

"There's only one entrance to the penthouse, and that is the elevator. It's a little silly I know. If there's a fire and the elevator spoils, anyone up there is going to be cooked meat," he gave them a tight smile, "But we can give you copies of the video log taken in the stairways if you want."

"Yeah, that'll be great. I know this is going to be a long shot but did you or any of your men spot anyone suspicious?"

Sterling sucked in a long breath, "No. Someone would have mentioned it if they did."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Thanks for your time Mr. Pattinson. We'll keep in touch."

* * *

It was past seven by the time they returned to the office. Those they could interview had already been interviewed. Results by the forensics team could only be confirmed at a later time so they would have to wait on that.

But they had been right - the media had already caught wind of the death. Flocks of reporters had arrived at the hotel lobby and it had taken the combination of the hotel guards and the police to keep them back. Thankfully, the bodies had already been moved by the time the paparazzi arrived.

"Commander's definitely going to want to be in on this one. I bet you ten bucks that he'll call a meeting tomorrow, first thing in the morning," Puck said as he stretched out in his seat.

"Do I look like an idiot?" Santana gave him a dirty look, which would have been more intimidating had she managed to stifle a yawn.

"Come on, let's take a look at what's in the CD."

The CD had been the only item Smythe and his team had cleared. They had brushed it for fingerprints but as expected, had found nothing.

"Maybe there are some trade secrets there," Puck said as he crossed over to her desk, snagged a chair from the neighbouring cubicle and sat down with a large sigh. "I can't believe she's dead. It's so sad! I was just listening to her new album yesterday."

"Death itself is a great pity, whether you're a celebrity or not," Santana reasoned, slotting the CD into the reader.

They only had to wait a few seconds before the CD whirred to life. There was a moment of black before the screen flashed to show dark, ugly, clashing colours. Music crept out of the speaker, slow paced and foreboding.

"There is no way this is her new music video." Puck commented, completely unimpressed. "I wouldn't buy it. If this –"

Santana shushed him when she heard a mic being turned on. The voice that came on was distorted, mechanical and airy but despite its robotic quality or maybe because of it, it sounded malevolent.

"Greetings Detective. I hope you waited long enough to see this. There is always a long wait before any good thing."

Pause.

Erratic breathing while the colours continued to meld and mould on the screen.

"I had to wait for one whole month before I could kill her."

Raspy laughter.

"But it was worth it. I only want the best you see and Mary-Rae was the best. Her voice, oh her voice. I could listen to her for ages, forever. She deserves to live forever."

Another pause, longer this time, that had Santana gripping the edge of her table.

"All the best deserve to live forever. Now, you cops will definitely want to catch me for this. You cops want justice don't you? Stupid fools. Foolish creatures!"

His voice now took on a hard edge, unforgiving and cruel, "But you have to understand. You will understand! You will learn to understand when I kill the best actress, the principal dancer, the most sought after model, the most beautiful woman alive. You will understand when you see my work, my masterpiece. You will remember my name when you see my masterpiece."

Heavy breathing then a cackle.

"You thought I would give you my name, didn't you? No, no, no," he teased, "That would make it too easy. You cops like puzzles, don't you? So here's one. I'll even make it fun."

"Fucker." Santana heard Puck mutter under his breath. His veins were visible on the back of his hands as he clutched tightly to the edge of her table.

The stakes had just been raised.

"Killing Mary-Rae was.. how do I put it? Not that much fun I guess."

If the killer had the guts to put his image on screen, she was sure he would be shrugging.

"It was too easy you see. Kevin? He tried to help but well," laughter echoed through the speakers as the colours swirled and whirled about the screen like a portal. Perhaps it had been planned, perhaps it had not, but the vivid scarlet bleeding on the screen reminded her of the copius amount of blood that had been mercilessly spilled in the penthouse. "He was useless. One blow to the head and it was over. He didn't even know what hit him. So, I need something more challenging."

"And I will do you all a favour. I will give you a list. It's like the Academy awards you see," he laughed again, this time rather hysterically, "I will decide who's the winner and the award is… death."

"First up, best actress nominees are, drum roll please."

Santana snatched up a notepad and pen and scribbled names frantically as he read off a list. They were all names she recognized, faces she could easily call to mind. They were also all young upstarts with bright futures ahead of them. All too young to die. All innocents with no idea of what may hit them.

"...And the last is Rachel Berry!"

At the last name, Puck gasped and Santana's pen tip dug a hole into the paper.

No.

"Moving on to the Dance Awards! Dancers are so underrated, don't you think? Such a pity, when they're so graceful, so elegant, so beautiful. I love dancers."

For a moment, Santana thought he had disappeared into his own world but then he remembered himself.

"First up, we have Brittany Pierce! Next..."

She couldn't remember what was said next. Her mind had blanked out at the name, covered by a red haze that she vaguely recognized as fury.

"Bastard. Fucking, sick, psychotic bastard," she whispered, unaware that her nails were digging red angry welts into her palms. Panic clawed at her throat, suffocating her even as she dug into her bag for her phone.

She didn't realise that the video had ended until Puck started shaking her hard by the shoulders, turning her to face him.

"Santana! Santana! Get a grip! We have to call in the Commander now!"

She shoved his arms away angrily and grabbed her bag, "You call the Commander. I need to warn Brittany! I need to call Rachel and..."

A horrible thought struck her.

"Shit if Quinn is around when he gets to the hobbit, she could end up like Kevin. They could be in trouble now!"

"They won't be. He sees this as a game! He wants them protected before he starts his plans to kill them. We need to let all the agencies know they have to put permanent bodyguards on these celebrities."

"Did you hear him Puck? That guy is a psychopath! Do you know what a psychopath is? He's cuckoo here," she jabbed a finger to her temple, "He's unpredictable. He'll say one thing but do another. He may strike when we're still wasting time trying to plan the next steps. I need to go now. I need to -"

"No, you don't and you're not going anywhere." Puck said firmly as he gripped her arm tightly. As he had anticipated her next move, he didn't flinch when her other arm swung back at him in a wild punch but instead, caught it easily before her fist could make actual contact with his face.

"You're not thinking like a cop. You're thinking like a friend. Now, think like a cop."

With that said, he only had to wait. He didn't need to tell her that her trying to save two people may end up in the loss of another two lives, that she was not following protocol, that they had to contact all the agencies of the nominated celebrities to put them on alert. That was not what she needed to hear.

When her hand dropped and her shoulders sagged, he handed her the office phone. "Now, start calling. I'll call and get the Commander in and put a team together. This CD is going back into the evidence bad and we'll send it to the tech team. See if they're able to track anything. We're going to need a lot of manpower for this. And a lot of coffee." He finished grimly as he trudged back to his own desk to make the calls.

He was right. Puck was right. She had to do her job. Shaking herself out of her stupor, Santana snatched up the phone to call Brittany, her heart pace accelerating with each ring. When Brittany picked up on the third ring, she breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Britt? Are you at home? Good. I need you to stay there. Don't open the door to anyone. Is Mike with you? Good. Can you get him to stay with you until I get back?"

She paused when a rattled Brittany asked what the hell was going on.

"Someone may be after you. I'll explain more but now I just need to know you're safe," Santana added when she heard the gasp over the phone. "Get Mercedes and Sam over if you can. He's not likely to strike tonight but I don't want to take any chances. Ok bye, love you," she said as she ended the call only to dial the next number immediately.

One ring, two rings, three, six, nine, ten. She waited only for the call to go to voicemail. Slamming down the phone, she dug out her personal mobile to call the next number she could think of. Quinn picked up on the first ring.

"Quinn Fabray."

Santana knew her number was saved in Quinn's phone so the only reason why she would answer in that way was because she was waist-deep in work. But she had no time for small talk.

"Quinn, is Rachel with you?"

At the slight pause, she could imagine Quinn pulling the phone away from her ear to check the caller. Then she was back on again.

"Santana? Is it time for our dinner date already?"

Trust Quinn to make her laugh no matter what the circumstance.

"Unfortunately not. That's Friday. Is Rachel with you?" she asked again, anxious for an answer.

"No, she's not. She's at a shoot. What's wrong?"

Even through the phone, Quinn could detect the worry and fear in Santana's voice. This was not a casual call. This was work.

"Someone may be after her. I need you to put people on her. We're going to have –"

"Wait. When you say someone is after her, do you mean Rachel's life may be in danger?"

"Yes. I'll explain everything later. But I have to go now." Regretfully so. "We're having a meeting first thing in the morning tomorrow but once we're done, we'll put our own men on duty. But she needs to be safe for the time being."

"There are plenty of people at the shoot so I doubt she'll be in any danger now. But I'll drive down myself, make sure she's never alone."

The rifling of papers and jingling of keys in the background told her that Quinn was already packing up and she couldn't help but think how wrong that statement was. The more people, the more camouflage, the easier it was to blend in and catch Rachel unaware. But that thought she kept to herself. She didn't need Quinn worrying more than she probably already was.

"Okay. Good. Good." Santana said as she rested a hand on her forehead. "Could you call me when you see her? I can't get her. I just need to know that she's safe."

"Sure."

"Thanks. And Quinn?"

"Hmmm?"

"Be careful."

* * *

**A/N: So there's not much of the fab duo here but as you can tell, they'll probably be spending a lot of time together after this. Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hello everyone! I'm back! Thanks for the wait, and for the reviews/follows/favourites. This one is a little short as I'm trying to get back into the groove of writing. Hope you enjoy it.**

**P.S. From the previous chapter, it can be assumed that Quinn has a brief idea of the case. **

* * *

For the second time in two consecutive days, Santana slept fitfully, her mind plagued by nightmares.

But this time, instead of flashbacks, she dreamt of what could possibly be.

_She was alone, her gun held up in front of her. _

_The room was dark, hauntingly so. Around her, the walls seem to pulsate, shifting and contorting with each shuddering breath and step she took. _

_She shouldn't speak. She knew as much. But in dreams, there was no control. _

_"__Brittany? Rachel?" She called out. _

_She waited but received no response except for the chilling laughter that echoed in her ears. _

_"__They will die." The voice whispered. "Pain. Kill. Blood."_

_As if on cue, she saw the red on the walls, the dull smears of blood that stained the sides of the room, then gagged when the coppery stench of blood penetrated her senses. _

_"__Fear me. I am death." He hissed and for an instant, she saw a shadow dart pass. _

_She swung her gun around, pressed down hard on her trigger and fired multiple times. The shadow gave way to darkness and her bullets hit air. _

_"__You'll never catch me," he taunted, "Not before it's too late."_

_"__Shut up," she gritted out but she knew he was right. It was already too late and he was everywhere._

_A burst of orange flared from her right and she spun, an arm thrown up before her to protect her eyes from the sudden flash of light. _

_Fire. _

_And death. _

_All around her. _

_"__No." She whimpered, the back of her hand pressed to her lips as she saw the bodies sprawled out on their backs, eyes opened, mouths gaping, lifeless. _

_"__It's your fault." _

_"__No, no, no. Shut up!" She hissed out, falling to her knees the moment she saw her best friend on the floor, "Brittany! Wake up! You can't die!" _

_On her hands and knees, she crawled because there was no shame when it came to begging for life, even when it was not for your own. _

_"__I told you it would be too late." The voice cackled. _

_The flames roared and sparked higher, revealing the faces of the dead all around her. _

_Rachel, dead. Mercedes, dead. Puck, dead. Her parents, dead. Quinn, dead. _

_Until she opened her eyes and stared at Santana with those gorgeous, breathtaking hazel eyes. _

_"__Why did you let me die?" Quinn asked, eyes gleaming with tears of sorrow and disappointment, "I trusted you and you let me die."_

_Santana thought she felt something in her heart crack. "No, I didn't. I wouldn't!" She tried to explain. "Stand up and walk. Get away!" She grasped Quinn's mangled arms in hers and tried to pull her up so they could run, but flesh gave way to bones and bones to ashes. _

_Helpless and horrified, she watched as the body before her moulded and contorted. _

_Then, Quinn was Darcy. _

_"__You could have saved me but you didn't." Darcy accused, her mouth opened wide in accusation, her face deformed under the sweltering heat of the furnace. _

_And Santana could only watch, rooted to her spot as Darcy's eyeballs leaked out from their sockets, as Darcy launched forward to attack, biting and scratching even as her body exploded, awashing her with a flood of blood. _

"Santana! Wake up! Wake up!"

She felt someone slapping at her face, mercifully pulling her out from her nightmare and into the real world. Her heart was racing and she realised the ringing in her ears were caused by her own hellish screams.

"Thank God. Breathe. Come on San, breathe."

She heard rather than saw Brittany say, even if the lights in her room had already been turned on. She blinked against the bright and it was only when she was struggling to sit up that she realised she was on the floor. A very wet floor.

"What the.." She started to say but stopped when she felt the throb in her hip. "Ow."

Brittany gave her a pitying look, lifting the hem of her t-shirt to examine the bruise that was already starting to form, "Yeah ow. You must have fallen from the bed during your impression of a possessed Emily Rose. Are you okay sweetie?"

Was she okay? Considering how her heart still felt like it was going to pound its way out of her chest and how all her hairs were standing on end, no she wasn't.

"Why is the floor wet?" she asked instead, struggling to sit, only to realise belatedly that she had an oversized, drenched t-shirt sticking to her skin, "And why am I wet?"

"Oh yeah that." Brittany answered sheepishly, pointing to the shattered glass fragments by their side, "I'll clean that up in a bit. It was the only thing I could think of to get you to wake up."

"It's fine." She mumbled, swiping a hand through her wet and mussed up hair. How much water was in that glass anyway? "I'll do it."

"We can clean it up together."

"No, no. I'll do it," Santana insisted, already feeling bad for waking her friend up with her overdramatic reaction to a nightmare. Because that was all it was. A nightmare. "I'm sorry.. I.. Go back to sleep Britt."

"Santana," Brittany warned in a low voice and for the first time since she had woken up, Santana felt the comforting hand on her back still. "Let me help you."

"I don't need help." She snapped against her better judgement and felt Brittany recoil. And fuck her, she hadn't meant to lash out and she certainly hadn't meant to direct her negative energy at one of the few people who had stayed by her side. "Wait, shit. I'm sorry. It's the nightmare. It's messing with my head."

When Brittany snorted under her breath but didn't continue pulling away, Santana considered it a win. Bless Brittany for her kind soul. Never change, she found herself saying under her breath.

"Your head is always messed up San."

And yeah, she couldn't argue with that.

"Come on, let's get this cleaned up and then we can go back to sleep."

She scoffed. As if she would be able to go back to sleep after this. Glancing at the clock, she noted it was shortly after 4am and wondered if a certain blonde would be up at this time.

Seeing that Brittany had gone to grab a couple of rags for them, she snagged her phone off the bedside table and typed a quick message.

**_Are you up? Wanna share a bacon and cheese omelette?_**

She grinned when the reply came shortly.

**_Depends on who's paying. Your treat?_**

**_Pfffft. Aren't you the rich one?_**

**_Is Pfffft even a word? And how many fs do you know to put in?_**

**_How about I tell you when I see you?_**

**_How about you actually say Pfffft when you see me?_**

**_Is that a yes?_**

**_Have I ever said no to you, detective?_**

Santana huffed out a laugh at that. If her rejected kiss yesterday morning was anything to go by, then yes. But yet again, she tapped her phone to her chin as she thought, Quinn had still given her a small peck. Even if it was the teeniest, tiniest, most pathetic kiss she had ever received on the scale of kisses. Still, it had been enough to warm her blood and leave her wanting more. She groaned. The things that woman did to her.

**_The answer is yes, just in case you're wondering. And I know you're wondering because you're taking a little too long to reply. _**

**_That and I'm always right. _**

Santana shook her head at the second message and laughed.

**_You're a goof. _**

**_Just a little piece of advice: You probably don't want to call someone you're trying to date a goof. _**

**_Who says I'm trying to date you?_**

**_Okaaaay. So shall I go back to sleep now?_**

And she had just lost the battle. Dammit. If her craving to see Quinn Fabray wasn't so strong, she would probably have given in to her pride and bid Quinn a fair good night. Instead, she found herself typing out a different reply.

**_I'll pick you up in half an hour. _**

When her phone vibrated in her hand two seconds later, she found herself smiling at the curt response. She could practically see Quinn frowning with disapproval.

**_I'll meet you at the diner. _**

But with the psycho on the loose and the nightmare still fresh on her mind, she would not be dissuaded.

**_I'll pick you up in half an hour._**

Twenty minutes later and freshly showered, Santana stood at the entrance to Quinn's apartment, hands in her pockets as she waited. Her fingers itched for a cigarette but she had that quelled by popping some gum into her mouth.

She didn't have to wait long before Quinn appeared, all dolled up and ready for what she supposed would be a day packed with meetings.

"I thought you said half an hour?" Quinn frowned, looking down to glance at the sleek, bangle-style watch she had on her left wrist.

"Why hello to you too," Santana commented with some sarcasm as she walked over. God, Quinn smelled good. She smelled like jasmine and roses.

"You're early."

Santana hummed her agreement and without much thought, reached out to take Quinn's briefcase.

"I can carry that myself." Quinn tried to take her bag back but found her hand swatted away.

"I'm sure you can, just like how you can walk over to the diner's by yourself right?" Santana teased and found her side being pinched hard.

"Ow! Is that how you treat all your suitors? And here I was wondering why you were still single." Santana complained, rubbing vigorously at the sore spot.

"Do you usually talk so much in the morning?" Quinn replied snarkily but her smile gave her away, "Hi."

"And finally a hello. Where's my good morning kiss?"

"Sun's not up. It hardly counts as morning."

Santana heaved out a dramatic sigh. "You're a hard one to please, Quinn Fabray. At least hold my hand?" She asked and held out said hand, emitting a laugh from Quinn.

"God, you're such a dork." Quinn said but slapped down a cool palm in hers anyway.

The smile that graced her face was genuine and bright.

"See that wasn't so hard was it? Now how about that kiss?"

Narrowed eyes turned her way. "Don't push it detective."

"Okay," she agreed obediently but turned their linked hands up to brush her lips against the back of Quinn's hand.

If only her mornings could start out like this everyday.

"Turning on the charm so early today, detective?" Quinn turned to her with an easy smile and bright eyes.

Maybe it was the colour of her irises or the shape of her eyes or maybe it was just how the moon casted perfect shadows on her face. Or perhaps it was because her voice had just the right husk, or that her body was pressed against her own in just the right position or it may be the way her hair was billowing around her face. Or maybe, it was something as simple as Quinn being up with her when everyone else she knew was sleeping in their beds.

But at that moment, it struck Santana how much she didn't want anything to happen to this woman before her, or to the people around her such that it would cause her sadness.

"Santana?"

She didn't think; she just acted. It was what she needed, what she longed for and so she took. She turned and moved in, covering Quinn's mouth with hers quietly.

If Quinn's lips parted out of protest, she wouldn't know because she dived in. Her hands lifted and fisted around blonde, damp hair. Because she could, she skimmed her tongue over luscious lips, dipping inside when granted entry.

Her head spun, her pulse pounded and she trembled.

"San – Santana – Wait." A hand pressed against her chest and pushed.

She opened her eyes and eased back reluctantly, slightly breathless from effort and lack of air. Quinn's eyes were dark and clouded, her mouth red and swollen from kissing. Testing, she pressed light kisses on either side of Quinn's mouth and watched her lashes flutter.

It would have been so easy to continue, especially when Santana was touching her like that, kissing her in a way that made her want to swoon and take this to another level. But something was off, something was wrong and she wanted to know what.

"Santana – Wait. We can't." She managed to pull away before the haze of lust could completely descend and overtake her senses. Gently, she cupped Santana's face between her hands and stroked with her thumbs, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Santana shook her head and made to step back. But Quinn's arms kept her close.

"Don't lie to me please."

Santana looked away then gave a forced laugh, "It's silly."

"It's not silly if it's eating you up."

There was a few seconds of silence, then the answer came.

"I just don't want you to die."

She said it so quietly, so abashedly that Quinn felt her heart break. How many deaths had Santana seen that she would think that?

"Oh Santana," she sighed, wrapping her arms around the woman, "I'm not going anywhere."

But she could still see the unbelief in Santana's eyes. So, she showed her in the only way she knew how.

With eyes still opened and locked onto Santana's, she brushed her lips against hers, retreated. Brushed again, shifted angles.

"Quinn –" Santana began but was hushed when Quinn's lips covered hers, heated hers, parted hers.

She moaned when soft hands brushed the underside of her breasts, trailed down and up to cup the back of her neck and tug her closer.

"I hope you don't mind taking a rain check on that bacon and cheese omelette." Quinn managed to say in between breathy kisses, even as she started pushing Santana back to her apartment.

"Uh..." She wanted to answer but Quinn was kissing her again, in that same drugging, devastating way that fried her brain circuits. "I have to be in the office by six."

Quinn barely glanced at her watch, "You'll make it."

Before she knew it, they were in the elevator, making out like two horny teenagers. Somehow, they made it to Quinn's door without falling over and with much fumbling, finally managed to open the door.

The moment the door closed behind them, Quinn was tugging the crisp white shirt out of the waistband of Santana's pants, "Off."

"Where's your room?" Santana panted then cursed when she fumbled with the pearl buttons on Quinn's blouse.

"Too far," Quinn said shortly before mashing their lips together again and backing them over to the couch, where they fell onto in a messy heap.

"This is a nice couch," Santana observed when her back hit plushy cushions.

Quinn barked out a laugh against her throat, "Are you being serious now?"

"What? It is a nice –"

She shut Santana up with her mouth, nipping and tugging with her teeth. Nimble hands tugged at her blouse and she halted her ministrations just long enough for the both of them to remove obtrusive clothing.

Then, they dove back in again, touching, savouring, tasting, exploring.

Under her, Santana was all lean muscle, sinewy and strong. Her black hair cascaded above her head and God, she was beautiful. So beautiful.

When she was rolled over, she luxuriated in the feel of coarse hands gliding over her, lingering here, pressing there. She arched, hips bucking when she felt Santana's warm tongue against her breast. Arousal pooled between her thighs and she moaned.

"Santana –" She started to say but her breath caught in her throat when a hand slid between her thighs, stroked, pressed, and brought her to a jagged edge of release.

"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered against the column of Santana's throat once they had come down from their high.

When Santana merely smiled at her, she kissed her hard on the lips and repeated fiercely, "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

**So, nothing but everything has happened in this chapter (if you know what I mean). This chapter was completely unplanned but as I was writing, it just seemed natural to take that route. I'll get back to the case in the next chapter. Have a great week guys!**


	8. Chapter 8

Santana made it to the meeting room five minutes before six (only because she ran a few red lights), where she found it bustling with activity. Most of her colleagues were already present and those who were not were arriving.

All around her, men and women alike were flipping through their notes and making idle conversations. There were a few kind volunteers who had taken up (or more likely had been forced to take up) the surmountable task of making coffee for the entire department but most of the cops present were already seated on rows of hard, plastic chairs lined up before a white screen.

A long mahogany table was pushed back against the wall and in the middle of it, was a small stack of photocopied papers.

When she spotted Puck at the far end of the room, she crossed over to him, grabbing a copy of the case on the way over.

"Hey, where the hell were you? I've been calling you for the past ten minutes."

"Driving," she said before stealing his cup of coffee. She took a big gulp then grimaced. "Urgh. I forgot how awful our coffee is."

"Then get your own cup!" Puck scowled before snatching the mug back.

"What's got your panties up in a twist Puckerman?"

"And what's got yours untwisted?"

They both grimaced at that weak attempt of a comeback.

After a beat, Puck spoke again, "You're damn late you know?"

Santana made a show of looking at her watch, "Commander said to come in at six and there's two minutes to six yet."

"Did you oversleep?"

Santana gave him a dirty look, "Since when have I been known to oversleep?"

"You're right," he replied and gave her a onceover, "You never oversleep, which means one thing." He smirked and jabbed her in the shoulder, "You got laid."

He snickered at his own joke but when Santana's only retaliation was to make another grab for his coffee, his eyes widened in shock.

"Holy shit! You really got laid?"

"Can it, Puckerman! And keep your fucking voice would you?" She hissed under her breath and tugged him down, trying her hardest to hide her flaming face in the mug she was drinking from.

So much for ethnic people not being able to blush.

"Who was it?" He asked excitedly, his body now turned to face her completely. "Was it Brittany?"

"Eeew no." She shuddered with a grimace. "You're disgusting."

For some reason, Puck always harboured this crazy thought in his thick skull that Brittany and her occasionally got it on. Something about two hot girls living under the same roof.

"Then who? Come on, you have to share."

Santana shot him a hard look, "Er no. I don't have to do anything you pervert."

"Yeah, just the girl you had over last night." He waggled his eyebrows and got a reluctant laugh out of her.

"You're revolting. Stop it!"

"Only if you give me something. Come on, for old times' sake."

"What old times?" She snorted, "We've only known each other for a couple of years."

"I think it's five." His nose scrunched up in thought before he remembered what he was supposed to be getting out of her, "Hey don't think you can distract me."

She scoffed at that, "As if you need help with that."

"Oh come on! Just one thing. One thing and I'll leave you alone." He held up his hand as an oath.

"Okay." She teased out, her smile growing when she saw Puck's anticipation, "She's a girl."

"No shit Lopez! Come on! Everyone here knows you're a carpet muncher."

She laughed at his outburst. "Not the word I would use but okay, fine, fine. Hmmmm. Let's see." She tapped a finger to her chin and pretended to think, then widened her eyes in mock revelation. "Ahhh I know. She's prettier than you."

When he cursed and snatched his mug back, she doubled over in laughter. "You asked for it. That was one thing. Now, lay off."

Glaring at her, he sulked, "You know Lopez, I don't think I like this post-sex humour that you seem to have found."

"And I don't give a hot, wet monkey's ass what you like." She smiled sweetly at him and batted her lashes.

He seethed in silence for about half a minute before finally accepting his mission as a lost cause. "You know, I think this is the first time our whole unit has been called back. Room's not big enough for us all."

"Not if all of us are sitting," Santana agreed, glad that the conversation had finally taken a turn away from her romantic life, "But we'll fit in just fine if we stand. Some of us need the exercise anyway."

She deliberately eyeballed a middle-aged detective who was growing tubby in the middle.

"No way am I going to trust Tanake if I get him as a guard." She grimaced in disgust when said detective chomped down on a sugar doughnut, scattering sugar dust all over his polo shirt. "Yup. Definitely not."

"Commander's here." Puck nudged her and the room fell into silence.

That was something Santana had always admired about Commander Mosley. He could command a room with just his presence.

Max Mosley was a tall, black man, broad in shoulder and fit as a fiddle despite retiring from street work. He now mostly dealt with paperwork, the media and the government. He was a powerful man and had earned his status through hard work, grit and a sharp brain.

Even now as he scanned his copy of the case, Santana could see his eyes narrowed in concentration, his brows furrowed as he considered, analysed and dissected the case.

"We'll not wait for the rest. Partners please fill them in." He said after he had finished reading the notes. "Most of you should have seen the evening news or at least heard about the death of Marilyn Raven by now."

The ensuing silence and brief nods showed that they had.

"But most of you wouldn't have seen the video the murderer left behind. Puckerman."

Puck nodded and put the video on play.

Once that was over and the lights switched back on, the tension in the room was more palpable than before.

"First things first. Nobody will tell the media what they have seen. This is code red. Anyone found relating anything we have said here to the media, to the public, to your family, to your wife, to anyone who is in no way involved in this case, will be suspended or even dismissed. Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir." They chorused.

"Good. Now here's the plan. There are twenty possible victims and about fifty of us. I'll be roping in officers from other units under my command but for now, you will adhere to this roster I've drawn up." Commander Mosley said as he passed out roster sheets.

"There will be three shifts, all eight hours each. Every one of you will be assigned to one individual. At each shift, there will be two cops on duty. You will be expected to guard these civilians with your life. You will ensure that they are guarded every moment. You will not leave their side and you will keep a sharp watch. When you are not on shift, you will be expected to carry out your normal duties. This applies to everyone except for Detectives Lopez and Puckerman."

"Sir?" the partners piped up, looking up from their roster sheets.

"You two will be primary. Push aside all other cases to your colleagues. I want this to be your priority. Report everything directly to me. Is that clear?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good, first shift starts in an hour. Be careful, be vigilant and watch out for each other's backs. Let's take down this bastard together." He offered them one of his rare smiles and as he walked out of the room, they heard him grumble about how the coffee was still as shitty now as it was in the past.

The moment Mosley left, the room started to buzz with excitement and conversation as the department checked their rosters. Despite the severity of the situation, it wasn't everyday that one got into close proximity with a star.

"Puck!" Santana barked as she scanned the roster sheet, "We got Rachel."

She heard his gasp of pleasure and his squeeze of excitement. She didn't need to look at him to know that he had a huge dopey grin on his face.

"We're on first shift. The others are solid too. Davidson, Smith, Jobs and Davis. That's one less to worry about. I can't find Britt's name. Do you see it? Brittany S. Pierce?"

Puck shook himself out of his daydream and scanned the roster for the dancer's name.

"Found it. Here." He pointed at the name, pursing his lips together as he read out the names. "Hmm not as strong a group as Rachel's. Lewis and Miller are great. Lee's still a little inexperienced but he's got Turner to back him up. But here's the weak link, Tanaka and Harris."

"Not Ken," Santana moaned in dismay as she stared down at the names, shooting a few useless glares at the fat detective who was now slowly inching off his seat.

Seeing her distress, Puck clapped a comforting palm over her shoulder and gave her a tight smile, "Don't worry about it too much. We're just there as a precaution. Just make sure your friend's guards are especially excellent at those times the two jokers are there."

Santana sighed and shrugged, "Nothing we can do there. I'll check on her myself whenever I can. Come on, we still have half an hour to make it downtown and I wants me some real coffee."

* * *

"Remind me why I'm the one in uniform again?" Santana scowled as she pulled at the starched blue collar that was currently suffocating her.

She hated wearing her uniform, hated its scratchy material, the rigidity of it, the unflattering cut, not to mention blue wasn't exactly her colour. But Commander Mosley's word was law and she had no choice but to follow his orders.

He had issued that between the pair of cops, one would be dressed in undercover clothes and the other in uniform. The purpose of the uniform was to show the psycho (they had taken to calling the murderer that) that he was getting what he wanted, that the police was playing his game - all in the hopes of drawing him out. The reason for the undercover was to have an element of surprise if and when the psycho showed up. In their case, they had drawn lots and Santana had lost.

"Oh stop fidgeting already. Where's Rachel? Do you think she'll remember me?" Puck waggled his eyebrows lasciviously, adjusting the tie on his suit with a smirk.

Santana's brows drew together in concern. She knew that look, had seen that look often when they took time to hang out together after their shifts. It was the look of "The Puckasaurus" gearing up for action.

Feeling suddenly protective, she pushed herself into Puck's personal space, "Hey! You stay away from Rachel, you hear me Puckerman? This case is fucking important and I don't want you screwing it up."

Taken aback by the sudden aggression, Puck answered with equal fire, "Oh fuck you Lopez. I've been a cop as long as you have and have you ever seen me do something as stupid as screwing an involved target?"

"Considering we've never had to look after involved targets, I wouldn't know would I? I have however seen you do plenty of stupid things. I'm just not sure now is the time to list some of them."

"Oh go get yourself laid again."

"I'm serious Puck," Santana turned to look at her partner sternly in the eyes, "I don't want you messing with Rachel. She's different from the other girls okay? She's serious about relationships. She's sensitive and easily hurt and she's just not the one-night stand kind of girl. I don't want you to hurt her and I don't want you to jeopardize this case."

Puck's eyes widened, both from hurt and indignance, "Excuse you Santana. I know how to do my job and remain professional. If you're doubtful about that, you can always ask Mosley for a change of partner."

Santana's eyes softened when she realised what her statement could be construed as, "Shit, that's not what I meant Puck. You know I'm not good with words."

"That's the only reason why I'm not more pissed than I should be right now."

And that was why she would not trade Puck for any other person on the force, because as much as his dick had a mind of its own, he was a decent guy and a good cop. But more importantly, he was an outstanding friend. He got her, he never bore grudges and he was quick to forgive, even if Santana was slow to apologise.

"I'm.. I shouldn't have jumped down your throat okay? I just.. Rachel's a friend."

That was about as close to an apology as Puck was going to get. He took it.

"Okay, I got that. I'm not going to flirt with her okay? I mean she's a pretty babe and she's totally fucking hot in Sons of Solomon but it's not as if she's going to like someone like me. She's a star for fuck's sake. Besides," he thought to add for good measure, "I'm a professional, aren't I?"

Grateful, Santana nodded, feeling very much like a hypocrite all of a sudden. Here she was telling Puck to stay away from Rachel when she was herself starting a little something with Quinn Fabray. Hell, that little something had already started and was in full motion. But she justified it by thinking to herself that she was keeping Rachel safe from Puck's womanizing ways.

Slightly discomforted by her thoughts, she pulled at her collar again and dropped herself into one of the chairs in the conference room. She briefly wondered if Quinn knew she would be one of the police escorts working in her company. As disappointed as she was that she hadn't gotten Brittany under her charge, she was elated to be working near Quinn over the next few.. well however long it took to end this.

"Would you stop tugging at your collar?" Puck complained at her constant fidgeting and leaned over to give her collar a good yank, "Why is yours so stiff?"

"I didn't get much chance to wear it. I made detective too quickly," Santana boasted but the way she whined and continued scratching her neck spoiled the intended effect, "I still think it makes more sense if I'm undercover. You look more like a policeman. I'll fit in better because I'm pretty," she remarked without an ounce of shame.

Puck snorted at her comment, "Until you open your mouth."

She started to retort but then the door opened, revealing an already made-up Rachel and a professional-looking Quinn. Behind them were four bodyguards, who Santana was happy to note, were built like tanks. They looked intimidating, imposing, and towered even over Puck who Santana knew to be over six feet tall.

"Good morning! Sorry we're late," Rachel chirped as she skipped in, holding out two bags of bagels and coffee from Starbucks. "Breakfast." She declared then plopped down onto one of the meeting room chairs, "I'm so tired!"

Puck goggled at the actress' apparent lack of distress and worry. He glanced over to Santana to gauge her reaction but she was too busy looking at Quinn with what he thought was a somewhat puzzled look.

"Hey, sorry we're late," Quinn repeated as she clasped Santana's hand then Puck's hand in a firm shake, "Nice to meet you again Detective Lopez and Detective Puckerman."

A small frown snaked in between Santana's brows at the formal introduction but she quickly smoothed it out and killed the unreasonable disappointment that gnawed at her. Quinn was just being professional, she reasoned. What was she expecting? A hug and a kiss on the cheek as a greeting?

Yes, actually she was. And she would expect at least a kiss on the lips based on what had gone down the previous night.

"I think we should discuss this er... problem," Quinn gestured vaguely as she searched for the right word to use. Unlike Rachel, she looked a lot more anxious and worried about their situation, "What exactly is going on? All we got is that Rachel might be a target for a crazy stalker killer and that more would be explained to us when you guys got here."

Santana and Puck exchanged a look, then gestured for all to sit. It didn't take long for them to brief all who were involved, not when all they could give was a general overview of the possible danger.

"So basically Rachel," Puck explained, "You have to be with either Santana or I at all times. Same goes for the other cops responsible during the other shifts."

His eyes averted from hers the moment he was done speaking. He had realised very early on that if he was to keep his promise to Santana, it was best if he kept minimum eye contact. It wasn't that he couldn't speak to a pretty woman without having a hard on but it was just that Rachel had one of the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. So what if it was cheesy? It was true. That and he was still trying to get over his infatuation with Galadriel.

"Okay," Rachel smiled easily, "That's not a problem with me. I can afford to stick to a handsome man like you."

He winked at her and received a swift, subtle kick in the shin under the table.

_What? _He glared at his partner as if to say, _Rachel started it first _but she resolutely refused to look at him.

"Thanks for noticing that there are two of us here," Santana commented dryly, earning her a laugh from Quinn, "So if there's nothing else to add about how handsome Puck is, which I would like to disagree on a personal level by the way, I believe we can wrap this up."

When no one said anything (discounting the mumbled curse that Puck directed to her), Santana nodded and started packing up.

As the group headed out of the conference room, Santana felt a warm hand brush against hers. She looked up to see that it was Quinn and that they were the last of the pack.

"Actually detective, I did have something to say earlier on. I just didn't think it was appropriate."

"Yeah and what's that?" Santana smiled back, completely enamoured.

"I think you look more handsome than your partner actually, especially in that uniform." Quinn complimented under her breath before striding right past her with a secretive smile.

* * *

The day passed slowly as they spent their shift at Rachel's drama set, where she was filming the last few delayed episodes of _Sons of Solomon, _the TV series that had taken over the country by storm and propelled Rachel into the spotlight as one of Hollywood's rising stars.

Prior to the drama, Rachel had already gained substantial popularity within the Broadway circle, with her role as Fanny in _Funny Girl_. But as Galadriel, that was where Rachel really found fame.

Needless to say, Puck's jaw literally fell open when they arrived on set and Santana was happy to leave him following Rachel around like a puppy dog.

As for her, there was honestly nothing much to do except wait. Wait while the make-up crew did Rachel up. Wait while the camera and lighting crew prepared the set for shoot. Wait again while they discussed this, adjusted that and took what seemed like millions of takes. God, this was such a pain.

She jolted a little when someone slammed something down on the table but relaxed when she saw it was just Quinn.

"You look like you could use a pick me up," Quinn smiled wryly as she took the seat next to Santana and settled a can of beer in front of her.

She had been watching Santana for the past minute without her noticing. Though her spine was straight and she looked calm and alert enough, Quinn could practically feel the boredom radiating out of her in waves.

"Aren't you going to drink it?" Quinn nudged the cold can towards her when Santana didn't pick it up but merely stared at it glumly, "I thought cops liked beer and doughnuts or is that just a stereotype, in which case, please ignore me."

Santana sighed as she wrapped her hands around the cylindrical metal, lifting it up to press the cold surface against her face, "I can't drink on duty but thanks anyway. This might still help to keep me awake."

"Oh yeah sorry, I forgot about that." Quinn leaned back to get a little more comfortable. After all, she was going to be staying for a while, "I'm always drinking during meetings." She confided, scrunching up her nose, "Schmoozing and all that."

Santana laughed.

"What?"

"Nothing." The laughter continued.

"No, seriously what?" Quinn asked, a smile growing on her own face. She liked seeing Santana smile.

"It's nothing. Just the word schmoozing."

"What about it?"

Santana shrugged, "I just didn't expect you to say it."

Quinn cocked her eyebrows in amusement. "You're strange."

"Told you it was nothing."

There was a few minutes of comfortable silence before Santana spoke again. "So about last night –"

"This morning." Quinn corrected, smile widening at her companion's obvious discomfort.

"Er yeah. So about this morning's erm_ thing_, we're fine yeah?"

Quinn let the silence hang just for the fun of it but when she Santana started squirming and flicking nervous glances her way, she decided to take pity on her, "Yes Santana, we're fine." She finally said and chuckled when relief flooded Santana's face.

"I like to think we're more than fine, don't you?"

"Well yeah, but I was wondering what that made us you know, like are we.. like you know?"

Amused, Quinn tilted her head to the side and studied the woman in front of her. "_Like you know?_"

"Well, yeah. You know?" Santana scratched her neck awkwardly.

"No, not really. I don't. You're being a little vague detective. Is that how you interrogate criminals? I'm not sure that's an effective tactic."

"Hey! You're not a criminal."

"And how can you be sure of that?"

Exasperated, Santana rolled the can of beer over her face and groaned. "Quinn."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry! But you're just so easy to tease," Quinn laughed, "What was your question again?"

Santana heaved out a long sigh and tried again. "I just wanted to know what we.. like where we stand."

"Are you blushing?"

"Quinn."

"You totally are, aren't you?" Quinn trilled.

"Quinn!" Santana protested again, her face flaming.

"This is hilarious! What would your criminals think of this?"

"It's not as if I can help it! You're making me nervous!"

"Oh _I'm_ making you nervous? You sure weren't nervous this morning."

"Quinn!"

"What? I'm just saying."

Despite herself, Santana laughed, out of exasperation and out of amusement. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah but you're no longer bored." Quinn observed correctly with a proud smirk.

"So I'm guessing you're expecting a thank you?"

"You're welcome." Quinn beamed brightly, causing Santana to shake her head helplessly.

Quinn really was ridiculous. Adorably so.

"I give up."

"Well, you shouldn't." Quinn advised, "Ask me again."

When Santana narrowed her eyes at her in suspicion, she held up her hands, palms facing out, "No seriously. Ask me again. No funny tricks. I promise."

"Really?"

"Yeah really."

When Quinn continued smiling at her like a good student in class, she rolled her eyes and went for it. "I had a good time."

Quinn waited for the question but when none came, she was confused, "Wait. That's all? Where's the question?"

Santana scoffed, "And let you continue giving me grief over it? Once bitten, twice shy."

"But it would be so worth it." Quinn argued with a laugh then glanced over her shoulder when she heard her name being called by a crew member. "As much as I enjoyed _not_ having beer with you, it seems waiting time's over but one last thing before I leave you to your moping detective," Quinn reached across the table to brush Santana's knuckles with her thumb, "I don't know what we are now but whatever it is, I want more. Don't forget our date tomorrow. 6pm. I'll text you the location.""

Then she was gone, leaving behind her the can of beer, her heady scent and Santana's tingling knuckles.

As if she could forget.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I have a confession to make. I'm suffering a little from writer's block (which explains the increasing time I'm taking to update this story). I'm also afraid that it's all getting very dull but I'm going to try my best. **

******Also, there seems to be quite a number of you who seem to dislike Puck. You are definitely entitled to your own opinion (I really don't mind!) but I feel a need to defend him because I see him as a good guy. Sure, he has his flaws and he can be childish and immature in certain ways, but he's also loyal, dependent, easy-going and willing to listen, which makes him a perfect partner for Santana. **

**Lastly, thanks for all the reviews, follows and favourites. You guys are the best! And boringsiot, I love the abbreviation of my pen name, tyvm. Thus, I shall use it. **

**-ppp**

* * *

Santana had been excited about her date with Quinn. Far from forgetting, she had actually taken active steps to ensure she would be date-presentable for the night.

For one, she had prepared a set of clothes in her car for the likelihood that she had to stay late in the office. As much as she would prefer to head home to doll herself up, she had learned from experience that all too often, last minute shit could crop up and prevent her from leaving on time to get ready.

And then there were the flowers. After her guard dog shift had ended, she had driven straight to the florist to pick up the flowers she had ordered the night before. Since Quinn had picked the place and had already called dibs on picking up the tab, she thought it was only right that she picked out the flowers. And boy what a horror that had turned out to be.

First, you had to choose the flower itself. You could mix and match, or you could just get one. It would be a simple task, if not for the fact that you had to choose from over a hundred species. Of just _one_ flower.

Roses were roses right? Wrong. Apparently, there were Aloha roses, Alchymist roses, Amazone roses, American Beauty roses, Adam roses, and these were just listed under the A-section of roses. Last she knew, there were twenty-six letters in the English alphabet. And then, you had to choose the right shade out of the right colour, and whether or not you wanted the flowers to be simply cut or arranged. If it was the latter, how did you want them to be arranged?

Santana thought the person who came up with this process should be shot. What was wrong with simply picking flowers from the roadside? Who decided that that wasn't enough and had concocted this horrible multi-step procedure that she was supposed to know the answers to? Who the hell knew answers to that? She just wanted freaking flowers that were pretty and could match up to Quinn's beauty. It shouldn't have to require so much work on her part. She was the customer for Christ's sake! So needless to say, after an hour of scrolling aimlessly and becoming increasingly cantankerous (she would prefer the word boisterous) to her screen, she had finally given up and called in reinforcements.

"Calla lilies!" Britt had declared almost immediately, "Elegant, simple, classy!"

And that had been that.

So after all the hoo-ha and all the effort that had gone into picking flowers that would die in a week, Santana didn't think it was wrong for her to be so fucking pissed that the psycho had disrupted her plans.

Smith was the one who had called her.

"He sent what?" Santana bellowed into her phone, attracting attention from the few cops sitting around her, including Puck's.

"What is it?" her partner gave her a look of concern at her agitation. Santana shook her head and covered the mouthpiece. "The psycho sent Rachel a box of maggot-infested chocolates. Alert those on shift now and ask if anyone of the others has received the same gift. Check on Britt for me please." She said before returning her attention to the call.

"Hey Smith, back again." The hum over the receiver told her Smith was still there. From the side of her eyes, she could see Puck speaking urgently into his phone. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Just frightened. Rachel has a hell of a scream."

She would chuckle under other circumstances but not now. Now, she was plain worried. "And Quinn?"

"Quinn who?"

"Quinn Fabray, the head of the company."

"Oh Fabray. She's fine. She wasn't with Rachel when it happened but I can bet if she had been the one opening the box, she wouldn't have bat an eyelid. She's hopping mad."

"Yeah, I can imagine." Santana heaved out a breath of relief, now that she knew no one was harmed. "How was the box delivered to Rachel anyway?"

"Supposedly with the rest of the fan mail but no one knows."

"Are there any postage stamps on the box?"

"Again, no one knows. According to Rachel, she only receives letters and presents that have already been taking out of their envelopes and packaging by the staff. It's a safety policy thing. We're going to have to check with the staff in charge of that but I have to warn you, the amount of gifts and letters they receive is insane."

"Dammit." Santana pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes in frustration. That was probably going to lead to a dead end but they would have to check anyway. "Okay. Thanks Smith. Puck and I will be right over. Do you mind getting started on the interviews? And secure the scene, would you?"

"Please. As if you have to ask." Smith said then promptly hung up.

When she turned around, Puck was getting off his call too, looking uncharacteristically somber. "I've just spoken to Lewis. He was just about to call me but I got him first. Looks like Brittany got a box too."

"Shit."

"Yeah but luckily, no one's hurt. In fact, Lewis actually said Britt looked kinda happy." Puck scratched the back of his head, looking slightly confused.

It took a second for Santana to get it but when she did, she laughed. Of course her best friend would be happy, she thought fondly. The maggots would be good fodder to feed the ducks with. Trust Brittany to always see the silver lining.

"I don't get it. Why would she be happy?" Puck asked, still trying to figure out a reason as he typed an emergency message to all the cops on shift. "It's not funny."

Santana's laughter died down and her eyes went hard. Puck was right. It was not funny and she proceeded to say as much. "Yeah, it's not funny but we'll be damned if we let the psycho have the last laugh. Come on, let's head back to the Fabray Corp. I told Smith we'll be meeting them there."

They grabbed their jackets and left, with Puck constantly checking his phone for updates.

"Have they all replied?"

"Yeah. Seems like half the girls got their chocolate scare. As for the other half, they're searching through the mail now to see if they can come up with anything."

Santana nodded to show that she was listening.

In the car, Puck merely lifted an eyebrow at the flowers in the front and the dress hanging at the back.

"Should I put these at the back?" He asked, waving the bouquet of lilies around carelessly.

"Yeah, but be careful with them, would you? They're expensive."

Puck did as he was told then quietly slid into the passenger seat. He waited till she had pulled out of the car park before he opened his mouth. One thing he had learned over the years was this: If you wanted to get something out of Santana, you had to wait till she was multi-tasking.

"They're expensive or you want to make sure you get them to Ms. Fabray in pristine condition?"

Santana almost drove her car right through the automated parking bar.

Puck rolled his eyes and gave her a lopsided grin, "Please Lopez, you thought I didn't know? Don't insult me. I'm a detective. Besides, the two of you were eye-fucking each other the whole day. I'm not blind. Watch out for the red light."

"We weren't eye-fucking!" Santana spluttered but her flushed face gave her away, "And I know how to drive thank you very much."

"She was totally the one you were doing the dirty with, weren't you?" Puck asked, suddenly excited, "No wonder you didn't want to tell me who. But bro, you've got my approval. That Quinn Fabray is smoking but.. Ow!"

He winced when Santana punched him hard in the arm.

"Don't talk about her like that."

"I should be the one punching you dude." Puck scowled as he rubbed his arm. "You told me to stay away from Rachel because it was unprofessional. Well news flash partner, Quinn is in this as much as Rachel is, which makes it equally unprofessional."

He knew he had won when he saw guilt overtake Santana's face. But before she could get a word in, he held a hand up to signal that he wasn't done. "But luckily for you, I'm too happy for you to even give you crap over it. Green light, start driving."

And it was true. He _was_ happy to see his friend finally move on and actually _be _happy with someone else who wasn't an insane bitch.

"You really aren't angry?"

"Please, you know it would take a lot more for me to get mad at you. You're my partner Lopez but more than that, you're my bro and I'll always have your back." He clapped his palm over Santana's shoulder and smiled easily at her. "Well unless you choose to date another crazy bitch. I don't think I can be down with that."

Santana let out a weak chuckle, undeniably touched by his words. She didn't think Puck knew exactly what his words meant to her. "Yeah. I don't think I can be down with that either."

But since they were on the topic of crazy bitches, Puck thought he should ask anyway, "Quinn's not a crazy bitch right?"

"Well, I suppose she can be a bitch. But I'm pretty sure she's not crazy," Santana said with a cheeky grin, wondering exactly what the blonde would say if she heard Santana speak of her that way.

"Well, that's okay then." Puck shrugged good-naturedly, "So are you two like together yet?"

There was a moment's pause before Santana answered honestly, "Not yet but we're figuring it out."

Puck nodded, "That would be best. You forgot to signal left. Take all the time you need to figure it out. If she's any worthy of you, she'll wait."

Santana's eyes widened with surprise, "And here I thought you were just a hopeless playboy who would chase any hot ass with a vagina."

"Seriously?" Puck scoffed, "We're having a moment here."

"Sorry." She shrugged with a grin, completely unapologetic.

"I have to say though Santana, I thought you would go with roses you know, considering it's the safe choice and all. But I have to say the Calla lilies are perfect for Quinn – elegant, simple, classy. I'm very proud of you."

"Okay wait. What? Even _you_ know what they're supposed to signify? How is it that everyone knows about flowers except me?"

* * *

Traffic was bad and by the time they reached Fabray Corporations, it was nearing five.

As Smith had sent her a text directing them to meet up in the mailroom, that was where they headed to.

Seeing no need for pleasantries, both sides engaged in cop talk immediately.

"Found anything?" She asked Smith and Davidson, the two cops on the afternoon shift.

"So far, no. We've spoken to the staff but no one remembers anything significant. They said Rachel receives boxes of chocolates on a daily basis. They didn't notice anything out of the ordinary."

"Where are the chocolates?"

Smith pointed the sealed bag of evidence now lying on the table.

"It's definitely contaminated."

"In all sense of the word," Puck joked and sent a wave of laughter around the room. Sometimes, it was good to let off some tension.

When Puck took a closer look at the brand imprinted on the box, he let out an awed whistle, "Looks like the bastard is loaded. Godiva chocolates. Talk about a waste of good chocolates."

That got Santana intrigued. "Godiva? Do you think he sent the same box of chocolates to everyone?"

A quick check with Lewis and a few other cops showed that possibility.

"Holy shit. Twenty boxes." Puck exclaimed in disbelief, "That's going to be a grand. That's stupid! He could have just sent a box of maggots. It would have led to the same result. Screams, that's what he wanted right? Why blow a grand on chocolates when you can do that with maggots alone for way cheaper?"

Santana's eyes narrowed in speculation. "Because he's a cocky bastard that's why. Either that or he stole the chocolates. In any case, he's just given us more to work with. Davidson, could you run a check at the Godiva outlets? See if there has been a customer in the past week who has bought twenty boxes of gift chocolates. Check for both cash _and _credit."

Davidson's eyes widened in horror, "_All_ the Godiva outlets? But that's going to take a long time!"

"Then I suggest you better get started." Santana deadpanned, completely unsympathetic. "Start with central and work out from there. If New York doesn't bing, then we may have to check the neighbouring states." She ignored Davidson's groan. "I'm betting on New York though. He'll want to stay in the city to watch the drama he's unleashed. I doubt he'll be so stupid as to pay by credit but since he's a cocky asshole, we may just get lucky. Smith, help your partner. I don't want to see him cry."

"As for us," she turned to Puck with a steely glint in her eyes, "We're going shopping for maggots, but not before we speak to Rachel first. Smith, who was with her when it happened?"

Smith's brows drew together in contemplation, "Hmmm. It was just me and Titan, one of her bodyguards. He's the.."

"Yeah I know who he is. The blonde, big dude who looks like Moose Mason."

Three sets of eyes turned to her.

"Moose Mason?" Puck asked, "Who's that?"

"Moose Mason from Archie comics? The dumb, jealous jock who was super possessive about his girlfriend?" When the three sets of eyes remained clueless, she rolled her eyes and waved them off, "Never mind. You guys obviously don't read."

"Hey! I resent that" Puck was the first to object.

"Your porn magazines don't count Puck." She shot back, much to the delight of the other two detectives.

"Actually, I don't think Archie comics would count as reading either."

They all turned to see Quinn standing by the door with her arms and legs crossed. She had obviously been there long enough to hear their mundane conversation about Archie and friends.

"Hey," Santana greeted, a little surprised and a little shy. Next to her, Puck was giving her none-too-subtle winks, "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to know you have considerable knowledge in Archie comics, detective. I'm not particularly fond of Moose Mason myself. Not much up here and too much muscle," Quinn tapped a manicured finger to the side of her head before uncrossing her limbs and taking a step towards the four cops.

"Moose informed me of your arrival." She said with a little smirk and watched as Santana blanched, "I don't think he would be too happy to know that he's been compared to a dumb jock."

Santana glared at her colleagues when they started sniggering. They weren't even polite enough to try to hide their amusement. _Rude._

"Where's Rachel?" Santana asked, deciding it would be smartest to change the subject, "Is she all right?"

There was a slight twitch of Quinn's lips, "Maybe it's better if you see her for yourself. She's a little hysterical right now but other than that, I think she's fine."

Puck and Santana exchanged wary glances before following Quinn up to her office. The blinds were pulled shut and the door was closed. Quinn knocked on the door twice, then swung it open to reveal an obviously distressed Rachel who was pacing the line of the room.

"Hey Berry. You all right?" Santana asked tentatively as she stepped into the room.

Rachel's head snapped up. Her eyes were wide, her hair was ruffled and her lips were trembling, "No. No I'm not all right! How can I be? He sent me maggots!"

Not knowing what to say or do to make Rachel feel better, Santana chose to remain quiet. She didn't think it would be wise to tell Rachel how fortunate she should be feeling that she only received maggots, instead of say a flesh-eating beast that could cause actual harm to her.

"He sent me maggots. Maggots." Rachel repeated with a lot of disgust and some contempt, "Was it because he knows I'm vegan? Because not only do I feel extremely put out, I also feel guilty. I'll have you know that I made a commitment to my cause two decades ago and I've never deviated from it until today."

"Which was why you shared a pepperoni pizza with Britt and I in college?" Santana challenged.

"I…I.." That made Rachel waver and she cracked, unable to keep up with her pretense any longer, "Oh darn it, Santana. You've disrupted my flow."

Santana's brows shot up in surprise, "What flow?"

"I was trying to channel my inner turmoil into an experience so I can better my acting."

At the same time Santana muttered a "What the fuck?", Puck started chortling.

"Why are you laughing?" Rachel asked, apparently deciding to direct her "inner turmoil" at Puck, "I'll have you know that I take my acting extremely seriously. When events such as today's occurs, I have to grab that opportunity and channel it in a way that allows me to store it for later use. It's called an actor's database," she proclaimed proudly with her index finger in the air.

"And I call it pure insanity," Santana deadpanned before turning to Puck, "I hope this kills your infatuation with Berry. I'm glad you've seen her true colours."

"Santana, I'll have you know I resent that statement."

"And I'll have you know your extemporaneous speech needs work. You've used the phrase 'I'll have you know' more than three times. Quinn, you should really look into enrolling Berry into an acting class."

"I've been a victim of a terrible prank and I'm a choice for murder!"

"And you're making me a victim of emotional blackmail. I don't think that's fair."

"You have a cold, cold heart Santana. I don't know why I put up with you."

"You don't, which is why we've barely kept in touch over the past six, seven years. You'll be comforted to know that the feeling is mutual."

"Why I never," Rachel huffed, turning around in an angry circle.

As much as she knew Santana was joking, it didn't mean it hurt any less. It was true that Santana and her had lost contact after graduating from their respective colleges but when they had been in the Apocalipsticks, they had worked together as a band and had bonded as a band. She still liked to think that Santana was a good friend, however much they argued when they got together.

"Now if you've finished demonstrating your acting abilities, do you think we can get on with our interview? Some people actually have jobs to keep." Santana commented a little cattily.

"What is your problem?" Rachel snapped, unable to understand why her friend was behaving in an unreasonable rude manner.

At the side of the room, Quinn and Puck were exchanging uneasy glances, wondering if they should intervene. Their friends' harmless verbal exchange had started off entertaining enough but now, it seemed to be spiraling down into an actual quarrel.

"You! Rachel_, you _are my problem okay. Do you understand that this whole situation is not a joke? You don't take an experience like this and store it in your actor's database. This is life. This is _your _life and if you want to come out of this alive, you better start taking it seriously. So what Santana? They're just maggots. Well yeah, he's delivering maggots in a box now. But what's next? Your body in a box?"

Rachel's eyes flew open and she gasped, hand over her mouth. A hushed silence descended upon the room.

The anger seemed to deflate from Santana with the outburst, and replacing it was embarrassment. She didn't like getting upset. She didn't like exploding into fits of rage. That was what she did when she was sixteen, not twenty-six going on twenty-seven.

Feeling a headache creeping in, she pressed frustrated fingers to her temples and was surprised to find that her hands were shaking.

There were a few more seconds of awkward silence, then, "Quinn, Puck, do you mind if I have a moment with Santana please? Alone?"

Although Rachel's voice came out in a whisper, the silence in the room was heavy enough for her voice to float over it. And even though Santana resolutely refused to look in her direction, Quinn gave her hand a quick squeeze before she filed out of the room. She could understand where Santana's anger was coming from but from where she was standing, it all just looked like a huge misunderstanding to her.

Once the door had clicked shut behind them, Rachel inhaled deeply to steady her nerves before speaking. "I'm sorry Santana. I didn't know that's how you felt about my behaviour. I would like to assure you that I certainly am not taking this matter lightly and I definitely don't see it as a joke."

"Fine" came the curt response.

"Santana…"

"I said fine."

Rachel sighed. Santana always was a stubborn one. "I know you're still not fine. Listen. I know I've been coming off nonchalant about this whole issue but fact is, I'm not all right? I'm terrified."

When Santana's eyes finally flicked over to hers, she nodded. Her friend was finally listening. "I'm scared. But I know if I keep thinking about it, I'll get even more scared. So I'm trying to be as optimistic and as constructive I can be about it. That's the way I cope but it doesn't mean I'm belittling this guy or that I'm not taking measures to protect myself. I am. Okay?"

She saw Santana give the tiniest of nods and she smiled. "So we're okay?"

"Yeah. Shit.. I'm.. um.. sorry for flaring up."

"That's all right. I've always been fond of dramatics anyway. Do you mind if we hug it out? Physical contact usually makes me feel better after an argument."

Santana rolled her eyes at the request but she opened her arms anyway, and Rachel happily stepped into them.

Some things never changed.

"So how did the maggots taste like?" Santana asked once they had pulled apart. She had to admit she was curious.

Rachel grimaced, "Chocolate? I didn't exactly savour them. As soon as I felt this wet, squishy thing in my mouth, I spat them out. If you're that interested, there's more where they came from you know?"

"Ha ha. Very funny."

"You know I can be. Now, shall we let Quinn and Puck back in before they lose their reputations? I mean what would the staff think about their boss eavesdropping at the door?" Rachel quirked amused eyebrows, tilting her chin to where shadows were dancing under the crack of the door.

Santana shook her head fondly at Quinn's antics. Who would have guessed? Quinn Fabray was _not_ a good eavesdropper. If she had been the one eavesdropping, she would have made sure not to get caught.

From the inside, they could hear Puck and Quinn having a whispered argument over whether they should re-enter.

She rolled her eyes again and strode across the room to yank the door open, "Oh come in already. We can hear you!"

They both smiled sheepishly, Quinn especially and Santana realised to her own amusement, that it was the first time she had seen the businesswoman blush. Considering that they were going to have to take a rain check on that date, Santana was going to make sure it wouldn't be a last.

"Finally something you aren't good at?" She teased, her smile widening as Quinn's face got even redder, up to the tips of her ears. She didn't even know that was possible.

"Shut up," Quinn said, swatting Santana's arm in such an easy manner that Rachel started staring.

"Are you two…?" She trailed off, her eyes widening as she considered the pieces of the puzzle.

When Santana started to blush as well, the pieces fell and her mouth dropped opened. "Oh my gosh! Are you serious? You two are dating?"

"I don't think it's any of your business Berry."

"We haven't actually gone on a date. We're still trying to figure things out."

"Quinn!"

"What? It's not as if Rachel wouldn't find out eventually."

They both started speaking at the same time, sentences stumbling over one another in their separate attempts to explain.

Seeing that the two women were having so much trouble, Puck decided to help out. "They haven't gone on a date yet. They've only had sex yesterday."

"Oh my gosh." Rachel gaped.

"Puck!" Santana exclaimed, completely mortified.

"You told him?" Quinn asked, horrified.

Helpless, Puck stared at the three women, "Um did I say something wrong?"

"Oh my gosh." Rachel repeated, her brain still trying to put everything together, "Ho.. How did this even.."

"Okay, no. You know what? We're not going to talk about this." Santana interrupted, her face hot as she strode over to sit on the office chair, "Puck and I are here on professional business. We need to ask you about the chocolates. Sit. Question one: At what time did you discover the gift?"

"Wha.. what? You can't leave me hanging like that!"

"Yes I can. Answer the question."

"Quinn!" Rachel turned to her friend for help but the blonde merely smiled smugly at her and gestured for her to take a seat, "You heard the detective."

"You two are awful!"

Knowing a lost battle when she saw one, Rachel finally conceded and reluctantly dropped into a seat, where her eyes fell promptly on Puck. A sudden spark went off in her brain and she smiled to herself. Here was a comrade. She may have lost the battle, but she hadn't lost the war.

"So chocolates Rachel. Puck, is the recorder on?"

"Yep!"

"Right." Rachel smiled sweetly, reminding herself to get Puck's number so he could tell her everything he knew, "So shortly after the both of you left, I decided to take a break from my vocal warm-ups."

Everyone rolled their eyes at that. Rachel had a tendency to burst into scales at every possible opportunity.

She continued, completely unruffled by her companions' reactions, "You see, even though I'm no longer singing as often as I used to do when I was on _Funny Girl_, acting still requires vocal projection, and there's always the possibility that I will need to sing one day. In fact, I'll actually be returning to Broadway in.."

"Rachel, I don't think the detectives need to know your future plans." Quinn cut in gently from the side.

"Oh. Sorry, I got sidetracked. So, we were talking about… Oh yes, the chocolates. As I was saying, I decided to take a break from my warm-ups, and Sally mentioned that the new batch of gifts from my fans were ready."

"Do you know what time that was?" Puck asked.

"Actually, I do. It was about 3.45pm. So I went down to the mail room and thought I would spend a little time reading and replying the mail."

"You reply fan mail?"

"Yes Santana, I do. Don't look so put off. It's important to interact with fans. It's PR. Anyway, I saw the chocolates, I thought I would have one and I ended up spitting out a maggot. It was revolting. I don't have much to add really. You already know all of that."

"Do you often receive gifts like that?"

"Maggot-infested chocolates?"

"No Berry, chocolates." Santana corrected with some exasperation.

"Hmm. I receive more letters really, praising my acting or telling me how I'm missed on Broadway or asking for autographs. But gifts, not as many. I get a couple of food items sometimes, but not often."

"Was there any letter attached to the box?"

Rachel thought for a while then shook her head.

"Do you know who has access to the mailroom?"

"Erm the mail people?" She looked to her boss for help and Quinn stepped in.

"I'll be able to give you a list of people. We have security cameras in every room as well. We'll be able to give that to you if you want. Which rooms do you need?"

"The mailroom definitely and the building entrance."

"You'll have it by the end of the day."

"That would be great. Thanks Quinn."

She took a look at her watch and sighed. It was going to be too late for maggot shopping. She supposed she could head back to the office to have a look at all the chocolates they had received and have forensics run a check on them. She needed to find out from the rest if anyone had found the packaging anyway.

Looking at Puck to signal she was done, they both stood up to leave.

"Will you be going back to the office?" Quinn asked as she walked them out.

"Yeah. Sorry about our.. about tonight you know." She wanted to say "date" but with Puck and Rachel so close behind, she didn't want to risk further teasing.

Quinn brushed the back of her hand over hers as they walked. "Don't worry. It's not your fault. Besides, we've lots of time. You've your work and I have mine."

"I was really looking forward to it though, if that helps?"

"Not really," Quinn frowned and almost sent Santana into a panic attack. She laughed when she saw the look on the detective's face. "Not in a bad way, silly. It just makes me even more disappointed that we have to postpone it."

"Oh thank goodness."

"But if it helps, whether we go on a date or not makes no difference to me as long as I get to see you, and I do. Get to see you that is. I mean this whole stalker thing with Rachel and the other girls sucks, but – I hope this doesn't come across wrongly because I do care about Rachel's safety– but at the same time, I'm glad for it because I get to see you so often."

Santana's heart soared with the confession and she couldn't help but let out a goofy grin, "Yeah I get what you mean. So rain check?" She asked hopefully.

"Rain check while you go do your police thing and catch bad guys while I conquer the rest of the world." Quinn nodded in agreement, lifting her hand for a wave as Santana and Puck ducked into the car.

If only Rachel and Puck weren't around, then she could at least get in a goodbye kiss, she sighed. They waited till the car had driven off before they made their way back into the building.

"Disappointed?"

Quinn turned to Rachel in confusion then looked away. The wide smile on Rachel's face was a little unsettling, "Disappointed about what?"

"Not getting some tongue action?"

"Rachel!" Quinn exclaimed, a little scandalized. She felt her face heating up again when Rachel burst into fits of giggles. "Do you think it's appropriate to be saying things like that to your boss?"

"Please Quinn. Don't use that line on me. You know it doesn't work but if you must know, I'm glad for you. You've been so tense and pressed lately. And from what I heard in college, Santana's really good in bed."

"Rachel!"

"What? I'm just saying it like I heard it."

"I'm not pressed!" Quinn grumbled.

"Sure you're not," Rachel agreed obligingly even though she thought her boss worked just too damn much to have a private life, "So are the rumours true?"

Quinn frowned. "What rumours?"

"About Santana being good in bed?"

"Rachel!"

_She was very good_, she wanted to boast but she didn't think Santana would appreciate that too much.

"I think you're starting to like my name a little too much."

"We're not having this conversation."

"Fine. Then I'll ask Puck," Rachel shrugged, undeterred.

"You'll ask… what?" Quinn pressed her palms to her eyes, willing the conversation to end. She didn't even want to know what Puck knew. "Fine, ask Puck. Whatever. Just leave me alone."

"Aww look at you. You're already starting to sound like Santana." Rachel cooed then frowned suddenly, straightening up at the same time. "Wait. So maybe I shouldn't be too happy about this."

Quinn only shook her head in response.

* * *

That night, Quinn arrived home to a surprise. A bouquet of flowers was sitting docilely in front of her door.

Calla lilies, she noted with pleasure as she bent down to pick up her gift with a smile.

_Meant to give this to you on our date but you'll just have to make do with the flowers. - Santana_

Feeling like a giddy teenager, she dug her phone out to make a call.

Santana picked up on the third ring.

"I've received your flowers."

"Do you like them?" Santana sounded tired but pleased.

"I love them." She sniffed the lilies, closing her eyes to better appreciate the light fragrance emitting from the generous posy. "How do you know where I live?"

A scoff. "I'm the police. I know everything. Hang on."

There was some rustling in the background then Santana was back on, "Sorry Quinn, I have to go."

"Okay. Thanks for the flowers."

They was a few seconds of silence then Santana let out a soft laugh.

"Quinn."

"What?"

"You're supposed to hang up.

"Okay." Quinn giggled but did nothing.

Santana gave another laugh of exasperation. Quinn could imagine her swiping her hair out of her eyes as she shook her head. "Okay, fine. I'll hang up first. I really have to go.

Another slight pause, then a soft "I miss you" came through right before the call ended.

Yep, Quinn sighed. It looked like she was going to have to make do with just the flowers for tonight.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: So this took a way shorter time and chapter 11 is already underway. As always, thanks for your kind reviews, alerts and favourites 3 - ppp**

* * *

"Nice flowers. Where did you get them from?"

Quinn's head shot up from her work, slightly startled to find that she was no longer alone in her office. She had been so engrossed in typing up a new proposal that she hadn't heard footsteps.

Hazel eyes latched onto Santana's amused brown, and she paused long enough to give her intruder a warm smile, "I thought you would appreciate them better in my office than in my home."

Taking that as an invitation, Santana pushed herself off the doorframe and walked in to take a seat across Quinn. She hadn't expected the blonde to be around. Fact is she was just looking for a place to crash before her shift started. It would have made no sense to head home, considering that she would have to leave the moment she stepped into her house. So, here she was.

She had been watching Quinn work for a while now. She liked the way Quinn sat, her back ramrod straight, her hair twisted into an elegant bun even though there was no one to watch and comment on her posture. Her fingers flew over keys and every once in a while, she would stop and a faint frown would cross between her eyes. Then the lines would fade and she would start typing again. It was quite fascinating really. Of course, it helped that Quinn was pretty as a picture. She had always been a sucker for pretty things.

Slouching low in her seat, she shot Quinn a lazy, lopsided smile, "That depends on whether I'm invited to your house."

The fingers halted once again but instead of a frown, blonde eyebrows quirked. "Are you flirting with me during office hours, detective? That's unbecoming."

"Technically, it's not office hours for me. I start at seven and it's only six."

Quinn's eyes flicked down to the clock on her desktop and sure enough, the digits on her screen showed 05:58. She groaned. "It's six already? I need to get this out by eight. Go away Santana. You're distracting me."

Okay, so that was not the response she was expecting. "I'm just sitting here!"

"You're a distraction." Quinn repeated firmly as she resumed typing, "What are you doing here so early anyway?"

"The forensics guys kicked me out. I hate Sebastian." Santana scowled, slinking down further in her seat. Quinn wondered if she should ask who Sebestian was but there was something else that was nigging at her. It took her a while to identify what it was, then it hit her.

"Are you pouting?" She grinned.

"No, I'm not!" The bottom lip that had been poking out abruptly drew back in, "I don't pout. I never pout."

"If you say so," Quinn said agreeably then peered closely at Santana's face.

"What are you doing?" The detective shrank back a little, both wary and self-conscious over the scrutiny.

Quinn ignored the question, brushing her thumb against the prominent circles under the detective's eyes. "Did you sleep?"

"Why?"

"You don't look like you've slept. You didn't, did you?" Quinn tutted disapprovingly, patting Santana lightly on the cheek as an admonishment.

"_You're _in your office at six." Santana pointed out.

"Yeah but I only require four hours of sleep a day."

And that seemed true. Quinn looked fresh as a daisy. Life was so unfair.

"Yeah well, I had work to do."

There was the pout again. _I don't pout_ my ass.

Seeing that a different tactic was needed for this stubborn breed, Quinn shrugged nonchalantly, "And now I need to work so go away. Go sit on the couch. We'll talk later."

Santana glowered at the less than friendly response but acquiesced. Quinn suspected it had a lot to do with how exhausted the detective was rather than an inability to come up with a retort. There were a few intelligible mumbles aimed her way but even that quickly ceased over the next few minutes.

When Quinn turned to check on her companion, she was unsurprised to see Santana sprawled on her front, fast asleep. One side of her face was squished up against the cushion and she had one arm flung over the sofa, her fingers skimming the floor.

She shook her head fondly before returning to her proposal. Truth be told, she was worried for Santana. It seemed she worked a lot, cared too much, gave excessively and took care of herself too little. Working herself to exhaustion was just one example, and then she would be no good to anybody. She made a mental note to ask Puck about Santana's working habits.

She glanced at the clock and figured she could spare a few seconds to close the door, just in case a few of her employees actually started strolling in. It was unlikely but with a big project coming up, she wouldn't be surprised if people came in earlier. Then, she dove back into her work and lost track of time.

It was ten past eight when the door flew open. Rachel burst into the room in song as she usually did, with Puck trailing close behind. It was his turn to pick her up today.

"Good morning, good morning! We've danced the whole night through. Good morning, good morning to youuuu!"

Quinn made an attempt to hush her but it was too late. Santana tumbled off the sofa in a heap of limbs, her eyes wild and her cheek creased but Quinn had to give her points for recovering quickly. She wasn't so sure if points should be given for the gun that was whipped out though, because she was pretty sure that single move raised her blood pressure and shortened her life by a number of years.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Don't shoot! I'm too young too die!" Rachel screamed and cowered where she was standing.

"What the fuck." Santana shoved her hair back from her face, only relaxing after realising who the intruders were.

She slipped her gun back into its holster and the room started breathing again.

"What is wrong with you Santana? Who tries to shoot their friends?" Rachel shrieked, looking completely flustered. She was still waiting for her heart to stop racing. Having a gun aimed at your face was not cool. Sure, she didn't have the prettiest nose but that didn't mean she wanted it blown off her face.

"I wasn't going to shoot," was Santana's non-committed response before she dropped herself back onto the sofa. Her adrenaline was already seeping out of her. "Serves you right for singing _that_ loudly so early in the morning. Fucking loud mouth."

"That's Judy Garland!" Rachel defended, as if it was supposed to make a difference. When no one reacted the way she wanted them to, she rolled her eyes dramatically and bristled, "Judy Garland? From _Babes in Arms_? It was covered again by Debbie Reynolds, Gene Kelly and Donald O'Conner in Singin' in the Rain?"

At the blank faces, she looked close to suffering a heart attack, "Guys! Singin' in the Rain! You can't _not_ have heard of it! It's a classic! It's a musi—"

"Oh shut it Berry!" Santana scowled as she rubbed her eyes. Maybe she should have gone with her glasses today, seeing how her contacts were freaking drying up her eyes. "You're a_ classic_ pain in the ass but you don't hear me singing about it."

"You're just grumpy because we interrupted your sleep."

"I wasn't sleeping!" Santana's hand dropped from her face and she blinked to clear her vision.

"Do you always sleep with your gun on you?"

"I wasn't sleeping. I was just.. thinking." Santana insisted, looking very much like a child who had just been caught stealing from a cookie jar. Quinn wanted to kiss the petulant pout off her face. She found it interesting that all she needed to turn her detective into a pouting mess was a lack of sleep.

Puck snorted, "Yeah. I could hear you thinking all right."

"If that's your way of saying I was snoring, I will end you."

"Oh yeah? Bring it on. I can take a.. Oh you've got a little something, something here by the way." He thumbed the right side of his mouth with a grimace then doubled over in laughter when Santana brought flustered fingers up to check. "Psyched! You totally thought you drooled, didn't you? So much for – Ow!"

Santana had chucked a cushion into his face.

"Shut up. I haven't had my coffee yet and you're –" She caught the time on her watch and turned to fix Quinn with an accusatory stare. "Holy shit! It's past eight? Why didn't you wake me?"

Quinn took her time clicking the "Sent" button on her email page before responding with a sweet smile. "You looked like you could use the sleep. You fell into deep thinking so quickly."

That sent Puck and Rachel into another round of laughter. Quinn let them have their fun for a bit before continuing. Though her eyes never left Santana, it was clear who she was really addressing. "I'm curious about something though. Why were you working so late into the night alone?"

Her tone was a little displeased, and if anyone had any doubts as to the purpose of her question, it was dispelled when she turned a slightly miffed look to Puck.

He caught on quickly and held up two hands to ward of her accusation, "Hey don't look at me! I was on maggot online shopping duty. And you!" He turned to his partner, "You were up all night? Were you doing something behind my back again?"

Quinn frowned and Santana fidgeted.

"Not really. I got some sleep in the bullpen and then here."

"What were you doing in the bullpen in the middle of the night?"

"Going through the videos Quinn sent?" Santana lifted her shoulders up in a shrug and gave her partner a sheepish smile.

"Santana! We were supposed to go through that together!" Puck puffed up his cheeks and blew out a frustrated breath.

"Yeah, I thought I would do that for an hour but then I started listening to Michael Jackson's newest album and I got hooked, and I didn't realise it was so late until it was too late."

Puck made "oooh"ing and "ahhh"ing sounds at her explanation and nodded his head like that made complete sense.

Rachel and Quinn exchanged a look.

"Wait. What? I think I've just missed something here."

Now, it was Puck's turn to look positively scandalised at Rachel's question. "Michael Jackson? King of Pop? You've heard of Judy Gutter but not Mikey?"

"Of course I've heard of Michael Jackson. He's the dead guy and it's Judy _Garland_ to you. But how does that make not sleeping okay?"

"Okay no. Now, that's just plain disrespectful. You can't refer to The Michael Jackson as that dead guy. Dude invented the moonwalk."

"But he_ is_ dead! And his music can't possibly be so good as to make you forgo sleep." Rachel scoffed.

And okay, she had a point. The King of Pop's music was good but definitely not _that _good as to make a person want to forgo sleep but was it really necessary to scoff? Was it appropriate to refer to him as "_the dead guy_"? No, which was why three hours later, Rachel found herself still a captive audience to Xscape. It had started in Quinn's office, then in the car (damn Spotify and audio jacks!), and now on set, where they were waiting for the cameras to be set up.

"This is crazy. Can't you get them to stop? Technically, you're Puck's boss." She whined to Quinn, who was busy replying her emails on her Ipad.

"Hmmm? But I'm enjoying the music and so is the crew." And that was true. Many of the crewmembers were bopping their heads or twitching their asses to the beat as they went about their work. "It's very catchy and addictive, don't you think?"

Rachel scoffed again, the very same scoff that had landed her into this audio torture fix in the first place. Quinn would have expected her to learn from it by now, considering the amount of complaining that she had been doing. "Are you enjoying the music or the view?" Rachel glanced deliberately over to where Santana and Puck were attempting to do a moonwalk.

Quinn followed her eye line and smiled appreciatively at Santana doing the dougie to _Love Never Felt So Good_ while lip-synching to the song. She was being quite enthusiastic about it. How endearing was that. "All the more reason for me _not_ to change the music. You're not helping your case here, Rachel."

Quinn ignored her friend's annoyed huff. "What was Santana like in your band?"

After a few seconds of contemplation, Rachel answered with a glint in her eye. "Wild. She bought me my first strip dance."

Quinn's eyes widened.

"Said I had to live a little. You should get her to sing for you. She has a good voice."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Not as good as mine of course but still, she has that raspy thing going on that makes it perfect for when we cover Amy Winehouse songs. She's a decent enough rapper too."

"_You _covered rap songs?" Quinn asked incredulously. She found that harder to believe than Santana rapping, though the idea of Santana rapping was a little… dare she say, arousing.

Her friend shrugged. "I wasn't the only one in the band. And when you have Brittany _and_ Santana in the same band, you're bound to have to do some hip-hop."

"That doesn't sound like a police-in-the-making."

"Yeah, I was a little surprised when she applied to the NYPD." Rachel admitted, "She used to be a hardcore cheerleader you know?"

Quinn almost spat out the mouthful of water she had in her mouth. "What?" She croaked, turning to stare at Santana in disbelief.

"Yeah, hard to believe right? She's one of the least cheerful people I've ever met." So, that was not what Quinn had meant. Girl was cheerful enough around her. "But I heard she was good. Good enough to get a full scholarship ride to NYU. Britt said it was the first time in forever that NYU's squad got into the finals for some... girl stunt thing. Hey you used to be a cheerleader too right? And you're the same age. You've never heard of all these?"

"Only that the girl stunt thing you mentioned is really more known as the Girls "4" Partner Stunt. Rachel, the only time I did cheerleading was in high school and that was just to please my dad. You know I didn't keep up with it in Yale."

"Oh right. Santana doesn't like to mention how she used to be a cheerleader too."

"I can understand why." Quinn grinned mischievously, already thinking up ways to tease the detective about her extracurricular activities. "So that explains why she's so flexible."

Rachel's face immediately scrunched up in disgust. "Okay. No. We're done. Go back to your work."

But Quinn didn't want to go back to her work, not when she spotted Santana sauntering over to her.

She set aside her Ipad and put on her best cheerleading smile to greet the woman. Time to test how much of a cheerleader Santana really was.

"I'm sexy, I'm cute! I'm popular to boot! I'm bitchin'. Great hair! The boys all love to stare!"

"Errrr – " Santana looked from Quinn to Rachel, then back, utterly confused. She didn't know where this was coming from but the rhyme sounded vaguely familiar.

"I'm wanted, I'm hot. I'm everything you're not!"

"Hey! I'm hot too y – "

"I'm pretty, I'm cool! I dominate this school!"

Finally getting where this was coming from, Santana aimed a frigid glare at Rachel just as Quinn started laughing. "You told her!"

"Quinn was a cheerleader too!"

"I can't believe you told her!"

"Does no one want to finish listening to my cheer?" Quinn interrupted, pretending to be offended.

"It's hardly _your_ cheer when you're just tossing out lines from _Bring It On_." Santana sneered but she couldn't resist flicking Quinn on the chin just so she could touch her. "I can't believe you watched _Bring It On_."

"I can't believe _you_ watched Bring It On?"

Santana groaned, pulling a chair over so she could sit too. "I was a cheerleader. I had no choice but to watch _Bring It On_."

"I was a cheerleader. I had no choice but to watch _Bring It On_." Quinn repeated.

Next to them, Rachel rolled her eyes at the way they were grinning at each other like idiots and getting lost in each other's eyes. One was her abusive college friend and the other was her sometimes-abusive boss. And here they were, gazing at each other like the sweetest things ever. She almost forgot how abusive they could be. Almost.

"Okay. I'm going to leave you two here to eye-fuck each other –"

"We are _not_ eye-fucking."

"How crude."

"You really should stay away from Puckerman."

"What would the media say about darling Rachel Berry using the f-word?"

And of course, they would be unanimous in ganging up against her. She just hoped they wouldn't unite in heaping abuse upon her. One of them at a time was enough stimulation for her brain, thank you very much, not that she would ever admit how much she actually enjoyed their verbal exchanges despite her constant grumbling. She was 75% certain they felt the same way about her.

"I don't think I like you two together very much," was her departing remark but of course, her smile told a different tale. She had a feeling she could get used to the coupling and in her head, she decided on the name _Quinntana_. She liked that it had quite a nice rhyme to it. Maybe she could even come up with some cheer lyrics to go with the name. Yeah, that was a good idea, she nodded before immersing herself completely in her role as Galadriel when the cameras rolled.

* * *

The moment their shift ended, Santana immediately headed to the washroom to change out of her uniform and into her preferred attire of shirt and pants. She was getting used to her uniform but it still had nothing on her shirt and pants in terms of comfort. Especially the shoes.

Smith and Davidson had earlier on reported their findings and had managed to come up with a short list of people who had bought twenty or more boxes of Godiva gift chocolates within the past week. Puck and her would be working off that list for the rest of the day.

"Quinn, what are you doing here?" Santana asked in surprise when she exited the cubicle and saw the businesswoman leaning against the sink with her arms crossed. The blonde had obviously been waiting for her.

"Don't look so surprised." Quinn crossed over to help carry Santana's load so she could wash her hands. "The toilet is the only place where I can kiss you before you go."

She indulged in a laugh when Santana's hands fumbled over the tap. "You want to.. What? Here?"

"Come here."

"What if someone comes in?"

Quinn rolled her eyes when Santana started looking around and went to her instead. "I've locked the door. And the crew is mostly male."

"But –"

Quinn shut her up with a kiss, barely skimming lips before she pulled away. "Unless you don't want a goodbye kiss?" She challenged.

"I was just going to say my hands are still wet." Santana grinned, holding up her hands to prove her point.

"You're lucky I have no phobia of water." She leaned in for another kiss, this time letting it linger, and was glad to see Santana's eyes close in pleasure. "That's for yesterday's flowers. And this.." She pressed in again, dipping her tongue into Santana's welcoming mouth and took her time savouring. She bit, sucked, released, threading her fingers into thick, black hair so as to deepen the kiss.

In turn, she felt cool, damp hands slip behind her neck, pulling her forward so their bodies were pressed together. Santana wasn't kidding when she said her hands were wet. She shivered when she felt a cold bead of water trail down from her neck to her back. Their breaths mingled, their tongues caressed and though they kissed passionately, they were gentle. The pace Quinn had set was torturously slow and when kisses turned to nibbles down her neck, Santana was forced to pull away.

"Stop." Her voice was husky from lack of air and her cheeks were flushed. She chuckled. "Stop." She said again, more for herself than for Quinn. "If we continue, I'm going to…come undone."

"Come undone?" Quinn laughed at the woman's choice of words, "Okay. So I take it you're happy with your goodbye kiss?"

Santana groaned and leaned in to steal another peck, "Yes. Very. Do I get daily kisses like that if I buy you flowers everyday?" She let her arms drop to rest on Quinn's hips.

"I think there's a law against bribery."

"I'm pretty sure it doesn't count as bribery."

"And I'm pretty sure you don't need to buy me flowers just so I will kiss you."

"You're sweet," Santana giggled then tipped a kiss to the cute nose in front of her, "And I'm glad because I'm pretty sure I'll go broke if I had to do that."

They both jumped when Santana's phone started ringing.

"Sorry, have to get that." She pulled out her police issue, taking Quinn's hand in hers when the latter hugged her from the back. "Detective Lopez."

"Hello? Is this Detective Lopez?" A nasal voice with an extremely strong Valley accent spoke into the receiver.

Wasn't that exactly what she had just said?

"Yeah, this is her speaking."

The voice brightened, "Hi! I'm Angel Cameron from Godiva! My manager said there was an Officer Smith yesterday who was looking for clues for some crime investigation? He said to call this number if anyone of us remembers anything?"

"And do you?"

There was a short pause. "Do I what?"

Santana rubbed the bridge of her nose, "Do you remember anything?"

"Oh! Yeah, that's why I'm calling duh. I do so totally remember."

"Ok so what do you remember?"

"The boss says to try to remember if there was any customer who bought like a lot of boxes and who paid by cash. I remember that."

Santana stiffened a little. "Great. My partner and I will be over right away. You'll still be there in half an hour right?"

"Yeah duh, as much as I want to leave now."

"Ok. Which branch are you at?"

She listened closely to Angel rattling off her address, thanked her then hung up.

"Clue?"

"Maybe. Can't be sure till we get there. She sounds a little.. bimbotic." Santana scrunched up her nose in distaste and yelped when Quinn gave her a pinch on the arm.

"Don't be judgemental."

"I'm not. I'm just saying it as it is. I'm not saying she _is _bimbotic. I'm just saying she _sounds _bimbotic. There is a difference."

"If you say so." Quinn gave Santana one last peck on the cheek before releasing her hold on her. "Stay safe detective." She said then watched Santana leave with a sigh. It was getting increasingly hard to see her go.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Santana and Puck strolled into the empty Godiva Chocolatier outlet on Lexington Avenue. She looked around the store and within three seconds, spotted her caller behind the cashier.

The girl was probably in her late teens or early twenties. She had pink-streaked blonde hair and heavily-lined eyes. Judging by the way she was leaning over the cashier till with a nail file, she was also obviously incredibly bored.

"Angel Cameron?" Santana approached the girl and flipped her badge out, "I'm Detective Lopez. This is my partner, Detective Puckerman. I'm answering a call that you made about half and hour ago."

"Oh hey hello!" Angel straightened up with some excitement and hastily put aside her nail file. She was clearly glad for the distraction. "I'm so glad you came! I've information!"

"I'm glad you do." Puck smiled, "Not many people are observant about their surroundings."

"Well I totally am! Nicki said there was a cute policeman who came in yesterday night. He wanted to know if there was like anybody who paid for twenty boxes of chocolates in cash. I was hoping to see him you know, the cute policeman Nicki talked about? But you're pretty cute too!" Angel eyed Puck blatantly and Santana had to mask her laugh behind a cough. Beside her, Puck fidgeted, the tip of his ears turning a fiery red, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. And wasn't that a first? Santana thought with sadistic amusement.

Just by the fact that Angel had said Smith and Puck were cute, she was going to take this girl's statement with a pinch of salt. No, make that a huge dollop of salt because well.. okay fine, she could see why girls would find Puck cute but Smith? Seriously, Smith?

Seeing that Angel could possibly start molesting her partner if she didn't intervene, Santana cleared her throat to bring attention back to her, "So, what do you remember about this guy?"

Angel reluctantly tore her eyes away from Puck's biceps, "What guy?"

Santana wanted to roll her eyes but she managed to refrain herself from doing so. "Have there been customers who have bought twenty or more boxes of gift chocolates within the past week?"

"Oh yeah, there was. That's why I called you, didn't I?" Angel twirled a clump of bubblegum pink hair around the finger, looking a little annoyed. Santana wanted to snip off that irritating chunk of hair, or better still, rip it off. Who even dyed their hair pink? Why would anyone do that? First, you had to bleach your hair because this chick was obviously a born brunette and everyone knew how that dried your hair like nobody's business. Then, you had to actually maintain the look because the colour leaked out so easily. And then.. okay no, she had to stop detracting.

"So, this guy paid by cash?"

"Yes." Angel nodded firmly, sending Puck what she must have thought was a smouldering stare. Fact is, she just looked bug-eyed. Santana wondered if Angel would appreciate her honesty.

"I remember because I thought he would tip me you know, considering how he was ogling at my boobs and all." Santana looked down to find no boobs but decided Angel would definitely not appreciate that. "But he didn't! Fucker bought over a thousand dollars of chocolates and refused to even tip me a dollar? Would it be so painful just to give me a dollar? A miserly, pathetic dollar?"

Yeah, actually it would be, considering how grating her voice was but again, Santana kept that to herself. Instead, she went with, "Can you remember how he looked like?"

"Well yeah!" Angel perked up. "He had like short hair and he was white."

They smiled at each other, and when Santana realised there was no more information forthcoming, her smile wavered.

Ok so great. That eliminated about 30% of the population, which left them with about 3 million people.

Sensing her bad temper, Puck stepped in, "How tall was he?"

"Hmmm. I'll say about your height, handsome."

Puck tried not to cringe. He liked women in general but adolescent girls who were not yet legal? Not really his thing. "Do you remember what he was wearing?"

"Oh yeah. I thought he was a celebrity at first you know? Because of the shades and the cap. And he was so cute!"

"You could tell he was cute behind the shades and the cap?"

"Well yeah. Not everyone looks super good in shades and a cap you know?"

Puck decided not to argue. "So I'm taking it he was in good shape?"

"Oh yeah! He's super fit!" Angel gave Puck's body an appreciative once over, "Kinda like you actually."

"Er right. And what was he wearing?"

"T-shirt and jeans."

"Any brands that you remember?"

"Hmmm. No but his ass looked super tight in those jeans."

Great. Another dead-end there. Deciding they had gotten everything they could get out of Angel, Santana figured it was time to end this useless interview and move on. At least, now they knew their guy was fit and tall. That brought the number down to about a million assuming that it was really their guy. "Do you have surveillance cameras here?"

"Yeah!" Angel pointed out the cameras at the corners of the store.

"Could we get copies of the.. Wait. Do you remember what day this was?"

"Let's see," Angel pursed her lips in thought, "It was the day I had a really bad hangover so that's.. Party was on Saturday.. then I went to.. Monday! It was a Monday!"

"Are you certain?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"Cool." Santana made a note in her book, "And would you be able to give us access to the surveillance tapes?"

Angel bit her lip as she glanced at the cameras, "Er I don't know how to. You'll have to ask the manager."

"And is he around?"

"Nope!" Angel said, popping the p and looking way too cheerful for the same reason, "Boss is out today!"

"Is there anyone we can talk to?"

"I dunno." Angel shrugged. "You can call the HQ I guess. Someone has to help you. You're the police, aren't you?"

If only it was that easy.

"So did I do good? Did I help?" Angel asked, looking so hopeful that Santana didn't have the heart to say no.

* * *

Godiva's headquarters was only a fifteen-minute drive away and they had been cleared quickly enough. After relaying what they needed, they were brought up to a swanky office, where they now sat waiting for someone named Biff McIntosh, supposed heir to all the boutiques in the United States.

He kept them waiting for fifteen minutes and just as Santana decided that she had had it, the door swung open, revealing a strikingly handsome man decked out in a tailored suit: chiselled jaw, piercing blue peepers and thick, cropped hair that was combed back. She gauged him to be about Puck's height and when they stood to greet him, she saw that she was right.

"Detectives, I'm sorry to keep you waiting." He offered a hand, and a firm, businesslike handshake. Strong grip, Santana noted and interested eyes, she narrowed hers in turn when his lingered on her face a little longer than was deemed appropriate or just friendly. Douche. "I was caught up in a meeting. Came up as soon as I could. Please, sit."

He stepped around them and eased himself onto the big armchair behind the U-shaped table. "How can I help you?"

"We need access to your surveillance tapes for your boutique on Lexington Avenue, specifically, the 18th of August."

"And may I ask what the tapes are to be used for?"

"You may but I can't tell you the reason exactly, just that it would greatly help in our investigation.

"And which department are you from, Detective…"

"Sorry, where are our manners. I'm Detective Lopez from the homicide department and this is my partner, Detective Puckerman."

"No first name?" Biff grinned, his perfect, white teeth flashing and Santana had an urge to punch him in the face.

"Detectives Santana Lopez and Noah Puckerman." She made sure to include Puck even though it was clear who Biff was really interested in. _Douche_, she thought again.

He leaned back and studied them both, "Homicide huh? Does this involve the reputation of my company?"

Not his father's company but his. And there was no concern whatsoever for his employees. What a jerk.

"Not that we know of but I can assure you that everything you give us will remain confidential."

"Then I see no problem. Give me a moment. This shouldn't take long."

He picked up the phone on the table and dialled a number. It took about three rings for the recipient to pick up.

"Kenneth, this is McInTosh. Get me the surveillance tape for the 18th of August, Lexington branch. I'm in my office. Do it fast."

No Ps and Qs were exchanged throughout the conversation. And she thought _she_ was rude.

"Now if you'll just wait five minutes." Biff smiled pleasantly at his guests, "Meanwhile, is there anything else you need?"

Santana forced a smile, "No thanks. We're good."

The phone rang and Biff held up an apologetic finger as he answered the call. "McIntosh." He said his name all important-like. "What? What do mean we don't have it?"

Puck and Santana exchanged a worried look.

"You_ think_ the cameras were spoiled? I didn't hire you to speculate. I hired you to _know_. So, now you're sure they're spoiled. Then why weren't they fixed?" Biff demanded, the anger in his voice barely restrained. "I don't care whose job it is. You're the head of security, which makes it your job. You're fired. Get me Ricker on the line."

Another pause.

"Now. I said now, Kenneth. You're done."

There was a few seconds pause in which Santana assumed was the line being passed.

"Ricker? Congratulations. You've just been promoted to head of security. Get the cameras checked out on Lexington. And while you're at it, make sure the ones at the other stores are working too."

Then, he hung up.

"Sorry Detectives," Biff shook his head apologetically, as if he had not just fired his head of security in front of two strangers, "I think you overheard my conversation with my employee but we don't have a record for Lexington on that day. Apparently, the cameras malfunctioned."

"They malfunctioned on that day?"

"They've malfunctioned _since_ that day." Biff corrected, leaning back into the embrace of his chair and folding his hands on his stomach, "So as much as I would like to help you, I can't."

"Would it be possible to find out the time it malfunctioned?"

Biff frowned, looking a little annoyed. "I supposed a quick call would do it."

He sighed, picked up the phone again and dialled. "Ricker. Give me the last seen record of Lexington." There was a short wait, some hums of approval and then Biff's answer.

"7.52pm detectives. And Ricker told me something that should interest you: It appears the system wires were cut."

* * *

**Disclaimer: The cheer that Quinn did in the middle of the chapter was from Bring It On. Love that show!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: So if things don't change, all the characters you need to know have appeared. I've just received a couple of part time work that I'll be taking on in the next two months so hopefully, that doesn't deter me from updating. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter. **

* * *

After sending a team down to Lexington Avenue to investigate the tampering of wires, Puck and Santana headed over to NYU to visit Professor William Michael Schuester, the first person on their list.

"Got his records?" Santana asked as she circled the campus car park for the third time.

"Yeah. No criminal records that the NYPD knows of." Puck said as he scanned his portable device. When he noticed they had stopped, he frowned, "You can't park here."

"Why not?" Santana challenged as she got out of her car. "He's a music teacher and he has no criminal records?"

Puck hurried after her, casting anxious glances behind his shoulder to where Santana had parked her car perpendicular to a blue Accord. "You can't park there! How will that car exit? And why is that surprising? Are you stereotyping? Like music types should have a drug record or something?"

"He shouldn't have double parked then. Serves him right," Santana took the stairs two at a time, "I'm just surprised that he doesn't have a blip in his records is all. Crazy college days and stuff you know? Let's see, staff room. This way."

"If we follow your logic, practically all of us in this city are going to have a blip on our criminal record. Are you sure it's this way?"

"Never doubt me."

They took the elevator up to the third floor where the staff rooms were and headed to room 303.

"Come in." A voice called from the inside after they had knocked the door.

"Professor William Schuester?"

"Ah hello. How may I help you?" The professor looked and dressed young for his age.

Santana pulled her badge out from her jeans pocket and watched as Schuester stiffened, "I'm Detective Lopez and this is Detective Puckerman, from the homicide department. We're investigating a case and we'll need your help."

"From the homicide department?" His fingers tightened over the pen he was holding. "Are my students –"

"Oh no, no!" Puck hurried to explain, "We've just had some nasty scares. Someone called to complain about maggot-infested chocolates and we're working on finding out who the culprit was."

Schuester's relief was palpable. "Oh thank God. For a moment there, I thought something bad had happened to one of my students. You never know you know, in New York."

While Puck and Schuester made small talk, Santana took in the office. William had obviously taken the time to make the office as cozy and as personal as he could. Posters of old bands such as _Journey _and_ The Beatles _adorned his wall. On his table were a few framed pictures of the professor with a ginger-haired woman, a few stacks of papers and… two boxes of Godiva chocolates.

"You know," Santana cut in the moment there was a lull in conversation, "I used to attend school in NYU."

Schuester looked interested, or at least he tried to. "Really? And please take a seat. I've some time yet before my choral practise at 6."

"You teach the choir here? Which one?"

"The Madrigal Singers." Schuester beamed, obviously proud of his work. "Would you like some water or anything to eat? I have some chocolates."

"No thanks." Santana shook her head and smiled. Puck did the same.

"Actually, we would like to talk to you about the chocolates."

"Yes of course. Your partner has filled me in about what happened." He shuddered, "Such a waste of good chocolates. That might be the only way to get me off chocolates though." He laughed.

"So let's see," Santana hummed as she scanned her notes, "You bought twenty-five boxes of gift chocolates from the Godiva Lexington Branch on the 18th of August? That would be last Monday."

"Hmmm I can't remember but yeah I guess that would be right."

"You paid by credit?"

"Of course. Can't go carrying over a thousand dollars in my wallet." Schuester laughed a little nervously. Whether it was from their presence or from the thought of carrying so much money, she couldn't be sure.

"Do you often make a habit of buying batches of chocolates?"

"Not really," the professor shifted in his chair to get more comfortable, "They're expensive. But I thought I would get them for my kids you know?"

"Your kids?" Santana frowned. She hadn't seen any pictures of Schuester's children in his office and based on his record, he was married without children.

"Yeah my choir kids. We won a recent competition and I thought they all deserved a little gift, just to show my appreciation for the hard work they've put in." There was that proud smile again.

"You would spend a thousand dollars on your choir students? Wouldn't your wife be unhappy about that?"

"Emma? God no. Emma's lovely! She's close to my kids too."

"Do you remember where you were on the 13th of August, eight to eleven A.M.?"

That question seemed to take the professor by surprise and he considered the question for quite some time before asking for permission to check his calendar.

"Sure. Take your time."

"That would be a Wednesday yes? I was on urgent leave and home all day. Emma was sick and I wanted to be there for her."

And wasn't that convenient.

"Did you bring her to a doctor? Any receipts?"

Schuester shook his head, "Emma doesn't like seeing doctors. She's kind of a doctor herself. She's a guidance counsellor."

"That's nice. Tough job dealing with kids all day. Do you mind if I take a look around your office?"

He looked a little uncomfortable at that request but nodded. She took a quick look around and let Puck continue with the questions. Based on what she could see, there wasn't anything out of place. There were tons of music notes and books stacked on a bookshelf and piled on the floor. There was a mini fridge, where she found another box of chocolate inside.

"You really like chocolates, huh?"

"Like what you said, dealing with kids all day is stressful." Schuester smiled tightly. "Chocolates release endorphins."

"Hmmm" was all she said, and she made a note to check his statement with his students. She wouldn't be surprised if none of his students received any chocolates.

* * *

Their next stop was Barnard College, where they found their second person on the list in his dorm.

"Blaine Anderson?" Puck asked as he flashed his badge.

The freshman took a morose look at the badge and nodded, swinging his door a little wider so the detectives could step in.

"Hi. I'm Detective Puckerman and this is my partner, Detective Lopez."

"My ex-boyfriend didn't put you up to this right?" Blaine swayed on the spot. Judging from the can of beer in his hand and the several empty cans in the bin, they could safely assume he was inebriated.

"Er…" Puck stammered, not quite sure what to make of the question, "Not that I know of, no."

The room was crammed and very, very messy. Clothes were strewn everywhere and there were a few takeout boxes swept to the side of the room. It was quite disgusting really.

"Sorry for the mess." Blaine scratched his mop of curly hair and scowled, not looking sorry at all. "It's just a really bad time you know?"

"Ok. We just need to ask you a few questions and we'll get out of your way, if that's okay with you?"

"I'm single now. I have all the time in the world." Blaine proclaimed sullenly and sniffed.

"It's stated in Godiva's credit records that you bought twenty boxes of gift chocolates last week?"

"Yes I did. So?" The boy jutted his chin out a little defensively.

"What were they for?"

"To eat of course. Can't a guy eat without anyone checking up on them? Is it a crime now to eat? Are you sure it wasn't Kurt who put you up to this?"

"Er no."

"Because it sure feels like it."

"Mr. Anderson," Santana spoke up from where she was still standing by the closed door (she figured it was the only way she wouldn't dirty her shoes), "We have no idea who this Kurt is. We're just here on official NYPD business."

Blaine sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's just that I'm just going through a really bad break-up now. My boyfriend and I had been together for two years now and then he breaks up with me because I've gained the freshman fifteen and it just hurts so bad you know?"

He sniffed again and for one terrifying moment, Santana thought he was about to burst into tears.

"I'm sorry to hear that. So you bought the chocolates for personal consumption?"

"I know I shouldn't eat so much. That'll just prove Kurt right."

"Not to mention they're bloody expensive," Puck muttered under his breath.

"But when I'm depressed, I just want to binge you know?"

"Where have you placed the chocolates?"

Blaine blinked up at them, "What?"

"You bought twenty boxes right? So where have you kept the chocolates?"

"Kept them? Why would I keep them? I bought them to eat!"

Now, it was Santana's turn to blink. "You've already finished the chocolates?"

"Well yeah. They're only twenty-four pieces and they're all bite-sized!" He was getting defensive again.

"When did you buy them?"

"Some time last week?"

"The credit records say Sunday. So that's six days ago. You finished twenty boxes in six days?"

"I guess." Blaine sulked, then slapped a palm to his forehead. "Oh god. That sounds like a lot of chocolates."

"That's 480 pieces Blaine." Puck did the mental sums and mouthed a "whoa" to his partner. "Where are the empty boxes?"

"I threw them away. Can't possibly leave them lying around, can I?" He slurred, but based on the empty takeout boxes accumulated over the week, it seemed that he could.

* * *

Customer number three was Brody Weston, a Broadway dancer for _The Lion King._ Rehearsals were still underway when they arrived at the Minksoff Theatre and it was only after use of verbal threat that the music director grudgingly agreed to pull Weston out.

He met them backstage, sweaty and annoyed, his face painted white and black for his role as one of the hyenas in the musical.

"What is this about?" He demanded. "I'm rehearsing for our opening night next week. This had better be important."

"Sorry to interrupt but this won't take long."

"It's taking long enough as it is." He snapped rudely. "I want to see your badges."

They flashed their badges.

"Look Mr. Weston. If you would cooperate, you can rejoin your rehearsals in no time. That or you can follow us down to the nearest police station and we can conduct our interview there."

"Are you threatening me?" Brody stalked forward, using his height to tower over her.

"No but it appears you are." Santana said mildly, refusing to back off. "You know, I have a friend who made something of herself in the Broadway industry. And based on what she told me, you need patience and a good attitude to work in your line. It's strange that I don't see any of those two traits in you. Now Mr. Weston," she continued, ignoring the angry curl of Brody's lips, "Give me your whereabouts on the 13th of August, between eight to eleven A.M."

"Are you accusing me of killing someone?"

"I don't recall mentioning a murder."

"Eric mentioned you two are from the homicide department. Look," Brody took a step back and rubbed his forehead, "I'm sorry for how I came on to you. Rehearsals have been brutal, opening night is in a couple of days and I've still not managed to get my steps down pat. I'm fucking stressed man."

"That's not my concern. Your whereabouts on the 13th of August, eight to eleven A.M., Mr. Anderson."

The sneer returned full force onto Brody's face. "I don't know."

Santana had had enough. Between her exhaustion, this guy's attitude, a dead body and a possible body count in the near future, she wasn't interested in being pushed around or taken for a fool.

"Listen up, donkey face. You trying to be funny means shit to me. If you can't give me a good answer or I find that you're lying, we take you down to an interrogation room and your understudy replaces you. And guess what? If I wanted to do that on your opening night, I can. Interesting fact, isn't it?"

She let that sink in and watched with satisfaction as Brody simmered, then nodded, his jaw tight.

"So for the third time, where the hell were you on the 13th of August, between eight to eleven A.M.?"

"Sleeping."

"Alone?"

"Yes." Brody gritted out. "We do scene rehearsals on Wednesday and I wasn't involved in that one. I remember clearly because I could finally get some rest."

"You were at your house?"

"Yes."

"See, that wasn't so hard was it? I ask, you answer. Now it says here that you bought twenty boxes of Godiva gift chocolates on Wednesday." Santana said, referring to the credit record, "Why so many?"

"I had a chocolate craving," Brody replied with a smirk.

"Don't fuck with me you son of a bitch." Santana growled and for the first time, Brody looked a little scared. "We're not playing games here. You spent over a grand on chocolates. Why?"

Brody licked his lips and looked over to Puck.

"I would answer her question if I were you." Puck advised.

"I bought them for dates okay?"

"Twenty boxes for one date?"

Brody scoffed, "One date? Who said anything about it being one date. What is this? The 16th century?"

"So you bought twenty boxes for twenty different dates? Based on the little I know about Broadway, a backup dancer doesn't earn that much. Or am I wrong?"

"Well yeah, what can I say? I know how to treat girls." That annoying smirk appeared again.

"Okay then Mr. Casanova, we would like to have the contacts of your twenty dates just so we can cross-check everything you've just told us."

Brody's eyes went wide, "What? That's an invasion of my privacy! It's against my rights!"

"And someone lost her rights when she was murdered. So your contacts, please. I can get your phone for you if you need me to."

When Brody remained where he was, Santana sighed, "Mr. Weston. I thought we had a clear understanding. You cooperate and we won't make things any more inconvenient for you."

"I can't give you their numbers okay?" His voice was soft and low.

"And why not?"

He cleared his throat and scanned the surroundings to ensure there was no one listening in, "They're customers. It's a policy."

Now, Santana frowned. "What?"

"It's like what you said okay? I don't earn enough as a Broadway dancer so I have a sideline job all right? It's not illegal."

She blinked but was careful to keep a straight face, "You're a gigolo?"

He shushed her furiously. "Keep it down, would you? No one can know about this!"

She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. He looked genuinely frazzled. "So when you said you were alone, sleeping on the 13th of August?"

"It's true."

"And you've given out all your chocolates?" She asked to clarify. As much as this dude was a jerk, she made it her job to cross off anyone she could on her list.

Brody gave a stiff nod, "It was a good week."

And because it was, she couldn't cross Brody Weston off her list just yet.

* * *

"So what do you think?" Puck asked when they were in the car, on the way back to the station.

"I think Brody Weston is a jerk."

"You think?" Puck snorted, "I _know _for a fact he is a jerk. Do you think he's our guy?"

Santana didn't even hesitate. "He's low on my list."

"And why's that?" Puck said, unsurprised. He had his own theories but still, it was always useful to have someone confirm his speculations. That's what a partner was for.

"For one, he's too impulsive. Our guy is anything but. Or at least, not yet. He's meticulous and he's a planner. I wouldn't be surprised if Weston has a record of getting into fights."

"He does actually," Puck looked up from his device, impressed, "One in a college and one in a bar. He was let off with a court-ordered anger management programme that lasted six weeks.

"There you go." Santana nodded, tapping a finger against her steering wheel. "With his temperament, he'll be unlikely to sit, plan and send out presents. On the other hand, I can see him bludgeoning Mary-Rae to death and ripping out her vocal chords. That part fits."

"But I thought you said our guy doesn't have anger issues?"

"I said our guy isn't impulsive. He obviously has anger issues. There is a difference."

"Why do you think he's angry?"

"That's for our profiler to pinpoint. But my guess? Probably women or fame issues. Regardless of which it is, I want to find out but if we're just looking at that, Brody fits. He's a gigolo who may see himself being used by women and a dancer who wishes he could be centre stage. It may be worth looking into him but I'll still put him low on my list. What do you think?"

"Yeah, I agree. Schuester beeps on my radar though." He caught Santana's smile. "You too?"

She hummed her agreement.

"Was it me or was he uncomfortable during the interview?"

"He was uncomfortable. Oh yes, you reminded me. Could you look up a list of his choir students? Check if all of them received a box of chocolates from him?"

"Okay. I'll get Davidson to do that. What?" Puck asked when he saw Santana aim a nasty look at him.

"Just because he's young doesn't mean you should bully him into doing your work."

"He's not that young! And I would do it myself if I were in the office. The connection is faster there!"

"Fine. And Blaine Anderson?"

"I don't know about him. I want to cross him off but.. he gobbled down 480 pieces of chocolates in a week! Like is that possible?"

"That just shows he should rethink his method of dealing with breakups. Did you notice the takeout boxes?"

"I would be blind AND anosmic if I hadn't. Man that place needs a disinfecting team."

Santana looked at him in surprise. "You know the word anosmic?"

"Oh shut up Lopez. I heard Rachel use it and looked it up."

Santana feigned shock. "You voluntarily looked up a word? My, my. Is this you? Is this my Puck?" For added effect, she placed a hand over her heart.

"Fuck you." Puck scowled, flipping her the finger. He would have preferred to cause her some physical pain but she was driving, so…back to Blaine. "If Brody Weston is low on your list, I'll put Blaine Anderson even lower. He's too short, don't you think?"

"Yeah but he's still tall enough to hit Mary-Rae top down. And I'm still bothered by the fact that he threw out his chocolate packaging but not his takeout boxes."

"It probably reminded him of his ex-boyfriend and his freshman fifteen." Puck sniggered meanly.

"Maybe," Santana said but she looked unconvinced, "But don't forget, we still have our mystery guy who snipped the wires of the security cameras. And he's top of my list. Now let's see if Smythe has finally dug up some useful shit that we can use." She concluded their discussion by yanking hard on her wheel and swinging into a lot.

* * *

"Look what the cat dragged in from the depth of hell?" Sebastian Smythe's silky voice irritated Santana's ears the moment they entered the lab. "Question is: Who's the cat and who's the one being dragged in?"

"Oh shut up you little bitchlet. I doubt even hell would want your scrawny ass. Where are my fingerprint results?"

Sebestian let out a long-suffering sigh and looked up from some bones he had been examining. She didn't even want to know what they were for, freak of nature that he was.

He went over to his folders, danced his fingers over them and finally pulled out one. "So." He said, then fell into silence as he re-read the scan analysis.

"Take your time, we've got all day."

"Shut it Lopez. People here actually need the quiet for their brains to work. Wouldn't expect you to know that considering you're lacking in that department."

The only reason why she let it slide was because she really wanted those results.

"They came up empty."

She leaned over his shoulder to take a look for herself. "Are you serious? You made me wait six days for this?"

"This is for the chocolates that came in yesterday, moron."

"Well duh. Of course, you wouldn't get anything! They passed through so many hands and he probably never touched them. I want to know if we got DNA under Mary-Rae's fingernails. Why the fuck did that take so long?"

"You can't rush the polymerase chain reaction." Sebastian told her evenly as he shuffled the papers. "No result."

"No result as in it's just her skin or she didn't scrape off enough of his skin when she clawed him?"

"Oh she got him good all right." He set aside the papers and turned to face her. "Okay let's teach your little brain one new thing today. Try to absorb it this time. For us to conduct a polymerase chain reaction in the first place, you need enough skin sample. So obviously, we got enough of that. The reason –"

"I know that already. Just get to the point, will you? Your noxious breath is giving me a migraine."

He ignored her insult and continued his lecture. "The reason why we have no result is because he has no criminal record. We can't match this DNA to those stored in our database."

So much for no result. They'd just hit a goldmine. Smyth just wanted a chance to show off. All he had to say in the first place was that they got a result but couldn't find a match. Bastard. But because she was so pleased with the piece of good news, she swallowed the barb on the tip of her tongue.

"Puck, did you hear him?" She turned to her partner with a wide smile.

"Yeah. So all we need now is to accumulate enough evidence against our suspects and this guy is ours."

Sebastian feigned a yawn but a hint of a smile ghosted his lips. He was after all, a fan of Mary-Rae and wanted this killer apprehended. "Looks like you're not complete idiots after all. Now since you have evidence to gather, I'll appreciate it if you get the hell out of my lab."

"What about my fingerprints for today?"

Sebestian gave her one of those slimy smiles that made her want to douse him with a bottle of disinfectant. "I wasn't aware that you had fingerprints considering how you can't be human."

"For once, you're right. I'm a fucking vampire who will be happy to bleed you dry if you don't get me some results tomorrow. Fingerprints for Godiva's cut wires, Smythe. Tomorrow." She tossed out behind her shoulder as a parting gift to the evil scientist and left him to his own devices.

Seeing how it was almost dinnertime, she wouldn't be surprised if he started munching on those bones he had been working on. She had never seen that guy eat. Maybe _he _was the vampire. Whatever, she didn't care.

What she did care about was whether Quinn had had her dinner. Hopeful, she pulled out her phone and dialed.

"Hey Courtney!" She spoke into the receiver cheerfully.

There was a slight pause before Quinn's voice came on. She sounded confused. "Santana?"

"Wanna have dinner with me, Court?"

"Erm this is Quinn." Now, in addition to sounding confused, Quinn also sounded a little peeved. Was that jealousy she detected?

"I was just thinking to myself how many blondes there were in the show you know? I could only come up with Courtney and Torrance. But even though Torrance was the lead character, Courtney was way hotter, not to mention she did that claw thing in the opening cheer?" She fanned herself with her hand and jerked her chin up at Puck when he gave her a look that screamed what the fuck? When Quinn started laughing softly, Santana stuck her tongue between her teeth and smiled, "So Court? Dinner?"

"Only if you promise not to call me that."

"Why not? Courtney is a pretty cool chick."

"Yeah but Torrance was head bitch. What if I told you I was head cheerleader in high school?"

Santana's brows shot up and she grinned, "Really? No shit."

Her girl was head cheerleader in high school. How about that? Was that hot or was that hot? She covered the mouthpiece of her phone to convey that information to Puck.

"Ask her if she has a photo of her in uniform."

"Oh fuck off. Not you, Quinn. I was talking to my idiotic partner." She was quick to say after she had shoved Puck away. "Don't give him a photo."

"Ok. How about you?"

"Me?" Santana's grin grew. "Yeah, I could use a photo. I was just thinking of getting some new photos for my wallet."

"Ok, I'll bring that for our date tonight." Quinn played along. Meanwhile, she started googling pictures of Courtney from _Bring It On._

"But just so you don't get all haughty taughty, I was head cheerleader in high school too, and college." Santana shoved Puck again when he burst out laughing.

"Is that right?" Quinn was amused. "Bet you wouldn't have made head cheerleader if I had been in your school."

"Hey! You take that back!"

"How can I when I speak the truth. I was trained by the one and only Sue Sylvester."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"You can't not know The Sue Sylvester!" Quinn sounded genuinely shocked.

"Well I'm telling you that I don't."

"How can you not know Sue Sylvester? She's a legend in the cheerleading community."

Santana scoffed, "Apparently so was I so how come you've never heard of me?"

"Ok that's it! We're pitting our skills against each other after dinner!"

"Oh a full stomach? You want to do handsprings on a full stomach?" Santana asked, incredulous.

"Are handsprings all you can do?"

"Please bitch. I can do handsprings WHILE cheering."

When Quinn snorted over the phone, Santana lifted a finger up, "I wasn't finished yet. With my eyes close. Ha! Beat that!"

"You're on! I'll beat your handsprings with a triple back handspring."

"Girlfriend, if you're Courtney or even Torrance, I'm Missy Pantone and everyone knows she's the one with da skills. I can take you. Bring it on Fabray."

"You do know Courtney was the one who referred to Missy as the uber dyke right?"

At that comment, Santana scrunched up her face in a grimace, "Right. Fine, you're Torrance then but I want to be Missy."

"I'm not sure you're badass enough, detective."

Santana let out a fake gasp. "I so am badass enough."

"If you say so, Santana."

Santana pouted, upset with Quinn's obliging answer.

"And don't pout."

"I'm not! I don't pout!" Santana was quick to reply, looking around as she did to see if Quinn was spying on her. How could she have known? "So I'll meet you at Central Park? I was thinking of having a picnic and I have some mats in the back of my car but oh shit. I forgot about your suit. Okay, ignore my suggestion, I don't know what I was thinking. We could just…"

"Shut up Santana. Central Park sounds wonderful. I'll bring a bottle of wine. Just give me five minutes and I'll be ready to leave. I drove to work so I'll just meet you there. Say in an hour's time?"

"Ok." Santana breathed, excited that this was actually happening. That this was finally happening.

Sure, it hadn't been planned, she wasn't dressed in her best dress and it was done on the spur of the moment. But that didn't matter because she was going on a date with Quinn Fabray.

Giddy with excitement, she ditched Puck as soon as she put down the phone and went about buying the necessities – a roasted chicken, a side of roasted vegetables, two apples, red solo cups for the wine, was she missing anything else?

Deep in thought, she almost dropped her shopping basket when her phone vibrated in her pocket.

_Got the bottle of wine. See you soon :)_

Just like that, she was out of the supermarket and on the way to the park.

* * *

When she pulled into the car park near the pond, she immediately remembered what she had forgotten.

Flowers! She had forgotten the damn flowers!

Slapping herself internally for that slip-up, she grabbed the bags and mat from the backseat, only to drop everything in shock when she felt someone press up against her.

"Relax. Relax. It's just me." Quinn's voice rasped in her ear before she could take her assailant down. "You're so jumpy detective."

"Quinn! Don't do that again! What if I punched you in the face?" Santana's chest heaved up and down as she fought to even out her breathing.

"But you didn't," Quinn kissed the side of her lips as a greeting, then pulled away with an impish smile. "Come on. I'm hungry."

They laid out the mats before the pond and spread out the food. There were a few other couples spread out around the field but other than that, it was quiet and peaceful. While night had fallen, the distant lamps and overhead moon provided enough light for them to see what they were eating.

"Is the food okay?"

"Santana."

"What?"

"I know what you're thinking. Stop stressing."

"I'm not stressing."

"You've been asking me about everything for the past five minutes. Just shut up and eat. I'm enjoying myself."

Santana smiled sheepishly and did as she was told, munching on her chicken while she snuck glances at Quinn. She was so pretty and under the moonlight, she looked almost ethereal. As much as it sounded cheesy and she wanted to puke from all the romantic feelings swimming in her system, it was true. Quinn was beautiful and she couldn't believe she was out on a date with this woman.

"You're thinking too much."

Quinn's voice broke through her thoughts and Santana blinked to focus on the face staring right back at her. Without thinking, she touched Quinn's cheek in a tender moment and smiled, simply smiled like a goof and giggled. Yes, she fucking giggled and didn't realise it was her until she noticed Quinn laughing in amusement.

"Someone's in a good mood today." Quinn leaned into her warm touch and scooted forward so their knees were touching.

"And it'll be even better when I kick your ass later."

Quinn frowned and when she realised what Santana was referring to, she laughed again. God, she couldn't remember laughing this much for a long time.

"We're doing handsprings on a full stomach?" She mocked Santana, using her earlier words.

"Oh no. You didn't." Santana narrowed her eyes before setting her plate aside and jumping up to her feet. "Come on." She offered a hand for Quinn to take.

"Now?"

"Yeah, unless you're scared of losing. We've barely eaten."

"_You've_ barely eaten." Quinn retorted but let herself be pulled up. "I'm not even dressed for this!"

"Stop making excuses for your imminent defeat." Santana shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it on the grass beside the mat.

She shot Quinn a cocky smirk then launched herself into an admittedly impressive backhand spring. After which, she spoiled her otherwise offhanded success by jumping in the air and whooping like a girl. That goof. Making a low bow, she swept her arm out to indicate that it was Quinn's turn to take the stage.

"I'm not dressed for this Santana and I thought you said you could do the stunt with your eyes closed?"

"Oh come on Quinn. It's dark out so my eyes are practically shut. And you can't back out. I'm wearing a shirt too."

"Yeah but you wear your shirt knowing that there is a possibility for wear and tear. I don't want my silk blouse to tear."

"I would have torn it off you anyway."

"Santana!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Santana laughed at her own crude joke, walking over to close the distance between them. "So admit it. I'm totally head bitch."

"Just for today." Quinn smiled despite herself, pleased to hear the detective's chuckle. It was such an insignificant win but it made the other woman so ridiculously happy.

Unable to resist, she fisted her hand in Santana's shirt and tugged, pulling her close enough for a kiss.

"So what do I get for winning?" Santana asked softly, her lips an inch from Quinn's. The kiss hovered there, just a breath away and smelling of herbs and pepper.

From the way Santana's eyes were flicking from her eyes to her lips, it was clear what she wanted. So Quinn gave her what she wanted. The victor deserved it after all.

Santana's mouth was soft and supple, more persuasive than possessive. Heat gathered like a fireball in the pit of her stomach when their tongues tangled, warming and spreading across her body.

She surrendered to the languid kiss, revelling in the touch and caresses. She could hear the hum of pleasure that sounded in Santana's throat, all but taste it as her mouth moved eagerly against hers.

Lips rubbed, tongues tasted, teeth nibbled and still it was not enough. It seemed nothing would ever be enough with Santana so they took their time. There was no rush here, no deadlines, no reports to be sent, no murderers to be caught. Here, it was just them and it was the world.

* * *

It was almost midnight when Santana stepped back into her own apartment, flushed with happiness.

When her phone vibrated to signal an incoming text, she smiled automatically when she saw Quinn's name on the screen.

_Check your back pocket._

_Right side of your jeans. (Love your ass by the way)_

Santana grinned as she thought of Quinn's nice firm grip when they had kissed. Curious, she slipped her hand into her back pocket_ , _where she easily found the mystery item.

She pulled it out to come face to face with a photo of Torrance Shipman. On the back of the photo, Quinn had written a short message in her elegant, cursive penmanship.

_We both know who the real Big Red is. _

She laughed all the way to bed.

* * *

**A/N: More Bring It On references. Just for those who don't know what "Big Red" is, it was the nickna****me used for the head cheerleader before Torrance. (Thanks to the guest who corrected me on this!)**

**Meanwhile, let the guessing begin. **


End file.
